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Tom Tufton's Travels

by Evelyn Everett-Green · English · Gutenberg #13404 · 417,649 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Tom Tufton's Travels

Author: Evelyn Everett-Green


        
Release date: September 9, 2004 [eBook #13404]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13404

Credits: Produced by Martin Robb


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM TUFTON'S TRAVELS ***

                        TOM TUFTON'S TRAVELS;

by Evelyn Everett-Green.

  CHAPTER I. AN ONLY SON.

  CHAPTER II. OUT INTO THE WORLD.

  CHAPTER III. IN GAY LONDON TOWN.

  CHAPTER IV. THE FOLLY.

  CHAPTER V. WITH LORD CLAUD.

  CHAPTER VI. BARNS ELMS.

  CHAPTER VII. MASTER GALE'S DAUGHTER.

  CHAPTER VIII. THE GREAT DUKE.

  CHAPTER IX. FARE WELL TO HOME.

  CHAPTER X. IN PERIL.

  CHAPTER XI. THE PIOUS MONKS OF ST. BERNARD.

  CHAPTER XII. BACK IN LONDON.

  CHAPTER XIII. ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY.

  CHAPTER XIV. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.

  CHAPTER XV. AWAY TO THE FOREST.



CHAPTER I. AN ONLY SON.


Good Squire Tufton of Gablehurst lay dying. He had been ailing for
many months, knowing his end to be near; and yet, as is so often
the case in lingering declines, death was long in coming, so that
those about him had grown used to the sight of the strong figure
wasted to a shadow, and the face shadowed by the wings of the
hovering messenger.

Some members of the household, indeed, had begun to cherish the
hope that the master might yet recover, and be seen amongst them
once more; but that hope was not shared by the patient himself, nor
by the two devoted women who nursed him with tender love.

His wife and daughter were always with him, relieving each other in
turn, and occasionally both yielding place to one of the many
faithful servants, who were all eager to do what they could for the
master they loved; but in his waking hours the squire seldom missed
the best-loved faces about him. Rachel and her mother seemed to
live their lives about his sick bed, soothing his weariness and
pain, and striving with patient resignation to school themselves to
submission to the will of God, who was about to take their loved
one from them.

And yet they had kept him with them longer than once seemed
possible. The bright days of summer were doubtless favourable to
the patient. When he could lie with open windows, breathing the
pure soft air from woodland and field, he seemed able to make a
stand against the grim enemy of human nature. But the summer was
now upon the wane; the golden sunshine was obscured by the first
driving rains of the approaching equinox; and it seemed to those
who watched at the sufferer's bedside that his life was ebbing away
as slowly and as steadily as the hours of sunshine in the
shortening day.

Today there was a look upon his face which caused Rachel many times
to turn anxious and beseeching eyes upon her mother, and yet what
she read in the expression of that worn and gentle countenance only
confirmed her own impressions.

The Squire lay very still and quiet, dozing as it seemed, whilst
the fire crackled cheerfully up the wide chimney, and the rain
dashed ceaselessly against the windows. He had not spoken for many
hours. There had come into Rachel's heart a terrible fear lest he
should never speak again. The shadow on his face looked so gray;
the features had taken so strange and pinched a look.

Rachel had seen death before in many humble homes, although it had,
so far, not touched any of her own nearest and dearest. She had
watched that creeping shadow before now, for her heart always went
out to the sick and the suffering, and her feet led her to the
homes of those who stood in need of tender sympathy and womanly
aid. But when the shadow gathered upon the face of her own loved
father, the pressure upon her heart seemed almost more than she
could bear. The tears stole down her cheeks, and her eyes sought
those of her mother with a glance of almost pitiful appeal.

The leech had stolen into the room, had stood beside the patient,
had shaken his head, and stolen away. He knew that his skill, such
as it was, could avail nothing now; it was but the question of a
few hours.

All day that stupor had continued. Rachel had feared they would
never hear his voice, or see the loving glance of his eyes again.
She had passed the time between a study of that wasted face, and an
eager and restless looking forth from the casement, as though in
search of something or somebody who came not.

Often she saw servants and messengers hastening this way and that,
exchanging words with each other, and starting off afresh; but the
one stalwart figure, for which she gazed with aching eyes, appeared
not, and often a sigh would break from her lips, whilst from time
to time a tear forced its way to her eyes.

Dusk was falling now. She could no longer see across the expanse of
park land which surrounded Gablehurst. She drew the curtains at
last with gentle hands, and piled up the logs upon the hearth.
There was a glint of something in her eyes not altogether accounted
for by the tears in them. It was a sparkle which bespoke wounded
sensibility--something approaching to anger.

"O brother, brother," she whispered, with dry lips, "how can you
treat him so? Have you a heart? How terrible a judgment you seem to
be seeking to draw down upon yourself! What will the end be like,
if this is the beginning?"

The flames leapt up with a sudden ruddy glow. The room had been
dark before; now it was suddenly flooded with a brilliant
palpitating light. As Rachel turned back to the bed, she saw that
her father's eyes had opened. The mists of weakness no longer
seemed to cloud his sight. He was looking round him with
comprehension and observation.

"Where is Tom?"

It was the question they had been expecting all day. It was in
anticipation of this that messengers had been scouring the
neighbourhood in search of that young ne'er-do-well, Tom Tufton,
the good Squire's unworthy son.

And yet, unworthy as he was--idle, reckless, dissipated, a source
of pain and anxiety to father, mother, and sister--young Tom was
beloved by the people in and about his home, albeit they all shook
their heads over his follies and wildness, and wondered with bated
breath what would befall Gablehurst when the young master should be
lord of all.

"Where is Tom?" asked the Squire, in a firmer voice than they had
thought to hear again.

"Dear father, we have sent for him," answered Rachel soothingly;
"he will be here anon."

"I would speak with Tom," said the Squire. "There are things I
needs must say to him ere I close my eyes for ever. Perchance I
have already delayed too long. Yet I have waited and waited, hoping
for signs of seriousness in one so soon to lose a parent. But
seriousness and Tom have no dealings together, it would seem. God
forgive us if it be any lack on our part that has made our son the
wild young blade that he seems like to be!"

A little sob broke from the mother's lips. It was the bitterest
thought of all to the parents; and yet they could not see wherein
they had erred. They had striven to bring up the boy well. He had
had the same training as his father before him. There had been no
lack of firmness, and no lack of love, but the result, as at
present seen, was terrible to the father and mother.

The squire heard the stifled sound of grief, and put out his hand
to clasp that of his wife.

"Remember he is the child of many prayers," he said. "We must
believe that those prayers will be answered. We must have faith in
God."

"I will try--I will try," answered the poor mother; "but oh, my
husband, how shall I hope to cope with that wild spirit when you
are gone?"

It was a hard question to answer, for the Squire himself had found
his son more than a match for him many a time. It was true that he
had done all that man can do to protect wife and daughter from the
reckless extravagance of an ungoverned nature; but he knew well
that Tom was not one to see himself tamely set aside. There were
difficulties ahead for these two women, and the future of his son
lay like a load upon his spirit.

"I would speak with Tom," he said, after a brief pause, during
which Rachel administered a draught of the cordial which did most
to support the failing strength of the dying man. Just at this
moment the lamp of life seemed to be glowing with fresh strength.
It was but the last flicker before extinction, and the wife knew
it, but Rachel experienced a glow of hope that perhaps it might
mean a temporary improvement.

"I will go and see if he has come," she said. "Perchance they have
found and brought him by now."

She glided from the room, just giving one backward glance in so
doing, when the expression on her mother's face brought a quick
spasm of pain to her heart. There was a strange conflict of feeling
going on within her, as she trod the corridor with swift steps, and
passed rapidly down into the hall beneath.

This hall was a great square place, with a glowing fire
illuminating it, the dancing shadows falling grotesquely upon the
pictured Tuftons that lined the walls, and upon the weapons which
hung, together with trophies of game, between them. In the centre
of the hall was an oak table, heavily carved about the legs, and at
this table stood a tall, broad-shouldered young man, clad in the
stout leathern breeches and full coat of the period, tossing off a
steaming tankard of some spirituous liquor, although the flush on
his face, and the slightly unsteady way in which he held the
vessel, seemed to indicate that he stood in no further need of
strong drink.

Rachel came swiftly down the staircase, her footfall making
scarcely any sound upon the shallow polished steps.

"Tom!" she exclaimed, in a voice full of repressed feeling, "how
can you delay drinking here, when your father upstairs is dying,
and is asking for you?"

"Dying, quotha!" returned the young man, with a foolish laugh;
"methinks I have heard that tale somewhat too often to be scared by
it now, sweet sister!" and he patted her shoulder with a gesture
from which she instinctively recoiled.

"Tom, have you no heart? He will not last the night through. Got
you not our messages, sent hours ago? How can you show yourself so
careless--so cruel? But tarry no longer now you are here. He has
asked for you twice. Take care lest you dally too long!"

Something in Rachel's face and in her manner of speaking seemed to
make an impression upon the young roisterer. Tom was not drunk,
although he had been spending the day with comrades who seasoned
every sentence with an oath, and flavoured every pastime with
strong drink. A man with a weaker head might have been overcome by
the libations in which he had indulged, but Tom was a seasoned
vessel by that time, and he could stand a good deal.

He was in a noisy and reckless mood, but he had the command of his
faculties. He saw that his sister was speaking with conviction, and
he prepared to do her bidding.

At the same time, Tom was not seriously alarmed about his father.
The Squire's long illness had bred in him a sort of disbelief in
any fatal termination. He had made up his mind that women and
doctors were all fools together, and frightened themselves for
nothing. He had resolved against letting himself be scared by their
long faces and doleful prognostications, and had gone on in his
wonted courses with reckless bravado. He was not altogether an
undutiful son. He had some affection for both father and mother.
But his affection was not strong enough to keep him from following
out his own wishes. He had long been a sort of leader amongst the
young men of the place and neighbourhood, and he enjoyed the
reputation he held of being a daring young blade, not far inferior
in prowess and recklessness to those young bloods about town,
reports of whose doings sometimes reached the wilds of Essex,
stirring up Tom Tufton's ambition to follow in their wake.

He always declared that he meant no harm, and did no harm, to any.
The natives of the place were certainly proud of him, even if they
sometimes fell to rating and crying shame upon him. He knew his
popularity; he knew that he had a fine figure and a handsome face;
he knew that he had the sort of address which carried him through
his scrapes and adventures with flying colours. He found the world
a pleasant place, and saw no reason why he should not enjoy himself
in his own way whilst he was young. Some day he would marry and
sober down, and live as his fathers had done before him; but,
meantime, he meant to have his fling.

There were other Tuftons who had done the like before him, as his
father knew to his cost. Several times had the estate been sadly
impoverished by the demands made upon it by some of the wild
younger brothers, who had bequeathed (as it seemed) their
characteristics to this young scion, Tom. The Squire himself had
been living with great economy, that he might pay off a mortgage
which had been contracted by his own father, in order to save the
honour of the family, which had been imperilled by the extravagance
of his brother.

Tom never troubled himself about these things. He cared little how
his father scraped and saved, if he had but money in his pockets
sufficient for the needs of the day. Extravagance in money was less
Tom's foible than recklessness in his exploits, and a daring
disregard of authority. No doubt he would have made away with money
had he possessed it; but as everybody knew that he did not possess
a long purse, and that the Squire would not be likely to pay his
son's debts of honour, he was saved from the temptation of plunging
deeply into debt. People did not care to trust him too far.

So, as he climbed the shallow stairs three at once, he told himself
that his father had no need to speak severely to him. He had only
been as other young men, and had not got into serious debt or
trouble. Tom had almost persuaded himself, in fact, that he had
been on the whole a very estimable sort of youth, and he entered
the sick room with something of a swaggering air, as much as to say
that he had no cause for shame.

But at the sight which greeted his eyes, as they met those of the
sick man, a sobering change came over him. He had seen death
sometimes, and the sight of it had always painfully affected him.
He hated to be brought up short, as it were, and forced to see the
serious, the solemn, the awe inspiring in life. He wanted to live
in the present; he did not want to be forced to face the inevitable
future.

"Tom," said his father's voice, in weak but distinct accents, "you
have come, and it is well. I have things to say to you which may
not longer be delayed. Take that chair beside me. I would see your
face once again."

Tom would far rather have lingered in the shadows of the
background; but his mother had risen and motioned him to take her
place. He sat down rather awkwardly; and mother and daughter,
without leaving the room, retired to the background, and sat
together upon a distant settle, holding each other by the hand.

"Tom," said the dying man, "I have sent for you because there are
things which I would rather you should hear from my lips than learn
from others after my death."

"Oh, you will not die yet, father; you will be better soon," said
Tom uneasily, letting his glance wander restlessly round the room
to avoid the searching gaze of those luminous eyes.

"Life and death are in God's hands, boy; and I think my summons has
come. Tom, have you been counting upon being master here when I am
gone?"

"I don't know that I ever thought much about it," answered Tom,
rather taken aback; "but I suppose I come after you."

"Yes, Tom, you come after me; but not immediately. I have so
settled my affairs that your mother remains here and administers
the estate until you are five and twenty--that will be three years
hence. By that time the burdens will be cleared away--and I fear
you would never clear them off were you in power. By that time it
will be possible for you to come and live here (I trust a wiser and
a better man), whilst the estate can bear the charge upon it of a
sufficient income to be paid to your mother and sister to live in
comfort at Little Gables, which has been willed absolutely to your
mother and to Rachel after her. At present the estate could not
bear that drain--unless only to get into fresh difficulties; but
three more years will put things right. During those three years,
Tom, you will not be master of Gablehurst. You will have no more
power than you have had in my lifetime. But I hope and trust you
will be a dutiful son to your mother, and will cause her no
heart-breaking anxieties, and oppose no vexatious obstacles to her
management of the estate."

It cannot be denied that Tom was taken aback at this. He had
naturally supposed that he would succeed to his father's position
as squire of Gablehurst without let or hindrance; and it was a
decided blow to him to feel that he was still to occupy a
subordinate position, squire only in name. It was all very well
when his father lived--that was right and natural enough--but to
see his mother ruling, and himself submitting to her rule!--that
was a thing he had not bargained for. He felt as though he would be
the laughing-stock of all his friends.

The father saw the look upon his face, and it pained him.

"You do not like the arrangement, Tom; and yet I know it is the
best which can be made."

"Oh yes, in a way. I see what you mean. I don't understand scraping
and paring myself; yet, of course, it will be best to get the
mortgage paid off once and for all. I can see that well enough. But
I confess it will be poor fun living at Gablehurst as a little boy
tied to his mother's apron strings. I would rather go away
altogether, and see the world for myself."

"Well, Tom," answered the father in the same low, even tones, "your
mother and I have sometimes asked ourselves seriously whether you
might not do better away from home; whether it might not be the
best thing we could do for you to sever you from your present
companions, and see if you could not find better ones elsewhere."

"I have no fault to find with my friends," said Tom quickly.

"No, my son, I fear not. But we have much to complain of."

"I don't see what!" cried young Tom rather hotly.

"That is the worst of it. Did you see greater harm, our anxieties
would be less. But what are we to think of these cruel sports in
which you indulge, these scenes of vice and drunkenness where you
are constantly found? Even the Sabbath is not sacred to you. What
is this story we hear of you--that no girl may even go to church
without paying 'Tom Tufton's toll' at the lych gate?"

Tom broke into a sudden laugh.

"They like that toll well enough, father, I can tell you; else they
could go round the other way. Why, you yourself salute the farmers'
little wenches on the cheek sometimes--I have seen you do it; and
why not I the older ones?"

The Squire looked at his son with mournful intensity of gaze.

"Tom, Tom, I think sometimes that thou dost err more from
thoughtlessness than from wickedness; but, my son, thoughtlessness,
if carried to excess, may become wickedness, and may breed vice. I
verily believe that in half thy pranks thou dost mean no great
harm; but thou art growing to man's estate, Tom. It is time that
thou didst put away childish things. What is pardoned to youth, may
not so easily be pardoned to manhood. Have a care, Tom, have a
care! Oh, my son, remember that the day will come when thou too
must lie face to face with death, even as I do tonight. Let not the
record upon which thou wilt then look be one of vice and
profligacy. It needs must be that in such a moment our lives seem
deeply stained by sin; but strive so to live that thou mayest at
least be able to say, 'I have striven to do my duty--the Lord
pardon all my imperfections!' For, Tom, if thou dost persevere in
careless and evil courses, it may be that the power to ask the
Lord's forgiveness may pass from thee; and if it comes to such a
pass, may the Lord have mercy upon thy wretched soul!"

The dying man stopped short, a spasm of suffering passing over his
face. The thought had been a terrible one to him. Yet he had been
bred up in the somewhat stern Puritan tenets, and it was not in his
creed to speak so much of the everlasting mercy as the everlasting
judgment.

Tom put the cup of cordial to his father's lips, himself somewhat
sobered by the words heard and the visions called up. He was
neither callous nor hard-hearted; and his father was dying. In that
moment he really longed to turn over a new leaf, and cut adrift
from former temptations.

"Then, father, let me go," he said; "let me try afresh in a new
place. I could not do it here perhaps; but I think I could
elsewhere."

"If that be so, my son, then thou hadst better go," said the dying
man. "I would that thou couldst have remained to be the stay and
support of thy mother; but if not, then it may be thou wilt be
better elsewhere. I have thought often of this. I and thy mother
have talked it over many times. I have even made provision for it,
as she will tell thee and show thee. But, Tom, if thou go hence,
linger not in London, where, I fear me, thou wouldst soon be ruined
body and soul. There be stirring things passing in the great world
beyond the seas. Take ship, and go and see some of these things.
Linger not in idleness in the haunts of vice. The world is a bigger
place than thou canst know. Go forth and see it, and learn and find
thy manhood's strength."

Tom's eyes glistened at the thought. It had never occurred to him
as possible to leave his native place. Now it suddenly seemed as
though a new life were opening out before him.

"Where shall I go, father?" he asked.

The Squire was silent for a while. He had exhausted himself by the
energy with which he had spoken hitherto. When next he opened his
lips his words came more slowly and languidly.

"If I were in your place, boy, I should go forth and see what is
doing at the seat of war. I love not war for its own sake. It is a
cruel and terrible thing. Yet there be times when it becomes a
righteous thing; and methinks England is doing right to ally
herself with the foes of France to crush the tyranny of that proud
nation, whose king would fain be monarch of all Europe if he could.
I know not whether men untrained to arms may enlist themselves in
the ranks of the great Duke of Marlborough, whose genius is winning
renown for England's sons. But were I young, methinks I would go
forth and see some of the great things that are doing in the world;
and it might well be that a fine grown young fellow, with stalwart
limbs, a firm seat on a horse, and a knowledge of sword play and
the use of firearms, might even find a place in the ranks of the
great general. Whether or not, he would see life as he had never
seen it before, and learn lessons which might make a man of him all
his life."

The prospect was attractive and exciting for Tom, who loved a fight
as he loved nothing else, and who had a very exalted idea of his
own prowess and skill in arms. He could wrestle and throw better
than any antagonist he had ever met, and was no novice with pistol
or sword. He had the good opinion of his powers which naturally
came to one who had seldom or never found his match in his native
place; and already in imagination he saw himself riding at the head
of a troop of soldiers, and winning laurels on all sides by his
bravery and address.

The Squire's voice had sunk into the silence of exhaustion. He had
closed his eyes, and only opened them again after a long interval.
Their glance met that of young Tom, and the father seemed to read
something of what was passing in his mind.

"Tom, lad," he said feebly, reaching forth his hand and trying to
grasp the great horny fist of his son, "strive to be humble. Think
not too well of thyself. Seek counsel from God in all things. Be
not wise in thine own eyes. If thou art self willed, vain, and
headstrong, grief and pain will be thy lot. Seek first the kingdom
of heaven and its righteousness--"

But here the voice failed; and Tom, his quick nature touched and
sobered, rose hastily, and, with a muttered promise of quick
return, threw himself out of the room, as though afraid to trust
himself there longer. He was such a stranger to keen emotion, that
he fled from before it with a sense of dread.

The wife came back to her husband's bedside. He looked into her
face and said, faintly:

"The lad hath yet a warm heart."

"I have always felt that," she answered quickly. "But oh, my
husband, why send him forth to the perils of war?"

"In the hope that the stern discipline of a soldier's life may fit
him for the duties which will be his at home. The lad needs above
all things to learn to obey. Till he has mastered the lesson of
submission, he can never be fit to hold the reins of government.
That lesson he will learn most quickly in the life of the camp.
There he will be no great man, but an overgrown boy to be taught
and drilled. Young Tom needs to find his own level. That is what he
never will do at home. He has lorded it over the neighbourhood too
long already."

"But if he leaves us and goes forth into the world, who will care
for his immortal soul?" asked the mother, with tears in her eyes.

"Has he listened to our words of admonition and warning at home?"
asked the Squire, with a strange look in his glazing eyes. "Nay,
wife, I feel as I lie here dying, that the life of the soul is
something we poor frail human creatures must not try too much to
touch. The Spirit of God will work in His own time. We may pray and
weep and plead before God for an erring son, and we believe our
prayers will be answered; but it will be in His time, not in our
own. And time and place are no barriers with Him. He will do for
Tom, I will not doubt it, what we have failed to do with all our
pains and care."

The mother wept silently--for the husband whose life was ebbing
away; for the son over whose heart she seemed to have so little
control; for herself, soon to be left alone in the world, with only
her daughter for her prop and stay. She was not a weak or helpless
creature. She had been in her husband's confidence, and had been
his helpmeet throughout their married life. She was well able to
carry on single-handed the course of action he had pursued through
his long rule at Gablehurst; yet not the less for this did she feel
the desolation of her approaching widowhood; and it seemed an
additional sorrow (although she recognized its necessity) that Tom
was also to be taken from her.

A mother's love for her only son is a very sacred and compelling
thing. Tom had not been a comfort or support to his parents; he was
likely, if he remained, to be a source of endless trouble to his
mother during her reign at the old house; yet none the less did it
seem to her a heart-breaking thing to have to part from him.

The light about them grew more dim as the fire burned with a steady
glow instead of with dancing flames. Rachel had lighted a lamp, yet
it did little to illumine the great room. The sick man lay as
though asleep.

Presently the mother spoke in a whisper to her daughter.

"Fetch Tom," she said.

Rachel knew what that meant, and her heart beat to suffocation. She
crept from the room, and returned with her brother, and they stood
side by side at one side of the bed, whilst their mother knelt at
the other.

Once the dying man opened his eyes, and looked from one to another
of those about him, though whether he saw them they did not know.
Then his eyes closed, he gave a sigh, and turned upon his pillows.

The Squire of Gablehurst had passed to his last account.



CHAPTER II. OUT INTO THE WORLD.


"You had better let me go, mother. I shall do no good here."

Tom stood before his mother with a flush upon his handsome face--a
flush that was one partly of shame, partly of anger, with a dash of
excitement and eagerness thrown in.

His mother was in tears. She had been uttering words of reproach
and sorrow; for after a period of wonderful steadiness immediately
succeeding his father's death, young Tom had broken out into his
wild ways again, and her fond hopes of seeing him grow into her
comfort and stay were dashed ruthlessly to the ground again. The
impression made upon him by the death of the Squire was growing dim
now. His old companions were tempting him back to their ranks, and
he had neither strength of purpose nor the resolute desire to
resist their overtures.

"You had better let me go. You know my father said it. I have never
done any good here, and I never shall. I want to see the world, and
I see nothing here. Gablehurst and Gablethorpe are too narrow for
me. I will go to foreign lands, and come back to you with a better
record to show. I think I could make a fine soldier, but in this
miserable little place a man has no scope."

"A man has scope to become a good landlord, a kind master, a
God-fearing head of his household," said the mother, with a sigh in
her voice.

But Tom interrupted impatiently:

"That is all very well when one is the master. Perhaps when I come
back I can be all that myself; but now I am a dummy--a nobody, and
they all make game of me for being a mock squire! My father himself
knew that no man of spirit would stand such a humiliating
arrangement. If he could not trust me to succeed him, he did well
to arrange for me to go elsewhere. He said you would tell me what
provision he had made for me to do so."

The moment had come that the mother had so long dreaded. She had to
face the separation from her son, and to send him forth into the
world alone. But the experiences of the past weeks had taught her
that perhaps this was the best thing that could happen to young
Tom. In Gablethorpe he had no chance of getting away from evil
associates. In a different place he might find friends of a
different stamp.

She rose and silently unlocked a great oaken press, clamped with
iron, a place where the Squire kept all his valuable papers, and
some of the heirlooms which had come down to him from his
forefathers. Tom looked on with curious eyes. He had always
experienced, from childhood upwards, a certain sense of awe when
that press was unlocked and thrown open. He now observed his
mother's actions with great curiosity.

"Come, Tom, and lift down that box, for it is heavy," she said; and
Tom came forward and carefully lifted down a small iron-bound
chest, which, for its size, was in truth remarkably heavy. This box
was placed upon the table, whilst the mother locked up the safe
once more.

Then she selected a small key from a number in a bag at her girdle,
and offered it to her son.

"There, Tom, the box and its contents are yours. You will find
within five hundred golden pieces--guineas every one of them,
bright and new from the mint. Your father saved them up for you for
many long years, in case it should ever become needful that you
should leave home to see the world. Always it was his hope that you
would remain at home to be his comfort and stay; but if that could
not be, then would he wish to send forth his only son in such a
manner as beseemed his condition in life."

Tom's eyes sparkled. A flush mounted to his cheek, and his hand
shook a little as he put the key into the lock.

It was all true. There lay, in neat rolls, more money than he had
ever seen in all his life--a fortune for a prince, as it seemed to
him in his youthful inexperience. The admonitions and counsel of
his mother fell on deaf ears. Tom's busy brain was planning a
thousand ways in which his wealth might be expended. He would go
forth. He would see the world. He would win fame and fortune. He
would never return to Gablehurst until he brought with him a name
which should cause the ears of those who knew him to tingle by
reason of the fame he had won!

"Nay, but boast not of the future, my son," pleaded the mother,
with a note of anxiety in her voice; "and be not over confident.
The times are perilous, and you are but an untried youth. Boasting
is not well."

But Tom could not listen. He laughingly repeated his boast, and was
off to the stables forthwith, to pick for himself the best horses
for his ride to London. For, of course, he must first go there, to
fit himself out for his journey beyond seas, and find out where the
army of the Duke was at present to be found.

Vague rumours of the great victory had penetrated to the wilds of
Essex; but where Blenheim was, and what the victory was all about,
the rustics knew as little as "Old Kaspar" of the immortal ballad
of later days. The squires were little less vague in their ideas as
to the scope and purpose of the war. It was to abase the power of
France--so much they knew, and was unpopular with the Tories of
Jacobite leanings, for the reason that the French king was
sheltering the dethroned monarch of the Stuart line. But then the
great Duke who was winning all these victories was said to be a
stanch Tory himself; so that it was all rather confusing, and Tom
was just as ignorant and ill-informed on all these topics as the
hinds who tilled his fields. He had never cared to inform himself
of what was passing in the world, and the newspapers had always
seemed to him very dull reading.

Now, however, he wished he knew a little more; but he told himself
that he should quickly pick up everything in London. His heart beat
at the thought of seeing that wonderful city; and although he
carelessly promised his mother not to linger there long, he was by
no means sure that he would not make a good stay, and learn the
fashions of the gay world before he crossed the sea.

He was quite of the opinion that, clad in a new suit of fashionable
make, he could ruffle it with the best of the young bloods about
town. He was now all in a fever to be off. He selected for his
attendant a young groom, with whom he had long been more intimate
than his father approved. His mother in vain besought him to take
faithful old John, or at least Peter, whom they had known from
boyhood; but Tom would have nobody but young Robin, and declared
that he and Robin, mounted upon Wildfire and Wildgoose--two of the
best and fleetest horses ever reared in the meadows round
Gablehurst--could distance any highwaymen who might try to stop
them, or shoot them down if they could not shake them off.

For these were days when travelling was none too safe, and the
transit of the heavy bag of golden guineas made an additional
source of danger. For there were highway robbers and footpads, who
seemed to have a seventh sense for the scenting of gold. It was
probable that they had spies and confederates in all sorts of
places, and that they were warned beforehand when travellers rode
with money and valuables upon their persons.

It was, therefore, small wonder that mother and sister looked with
somewhat sinking hearts at the handsome young fellow, in his
workman-like, if rustic, riding dress, as he sat upon his horse at
the hall door, giving a last look round him at the little crowd
gathered to see him ride away.

"You will write and tell us of your safe arrival in London; and be
very careful how you cross Epping Forest," said the mother.

And young Tom answered gaily,--"Oh, never fear for me. Wildfire and
I can ride through and ride down anything! I will send a letter
from London, but after that you must not look for anything but
silence. When men cross the seas, and live amid battles and
marches, letters can scarce be written, still less safely carried."

He stooped from his saddle, and once more kissed both mother and
sister. Then the servants and tenants crowded round, full of good
wishes for a prosperous journey and a happy return; and Tom
answered them with gay words of promise. He would come back again,
covered with fame and glory. They would hear of his doings before
they saw him again, and when he came back he would "take toll again
of all his old playmates;" and so saying, he looked laughingly
round upon the blushing girls, who had paid Tom Tufton's toll many
a time, between jest and earnest, by the lych gate.

They all admired and liked the handsome lad, even though his ways
were more wild and reckless than the elders could approve. But all
declared that it would do him all the good in the world to go out
and see life in other places. It would cool his hot blood, and
teach him wisdom; and, after all, lads always would be lads till
manhood's cares and lessons had tamed them.

So Tom rode away in high spirits, Robin following on Wildgoose,
with the saddlebags strapped in front of him. They did not take
much with them, as Tom meant to equip himself in town, and was
wearing his finest home-made suit upon the journey. He had his
precious guineas carefully secured about his person. They were
heavy, it is true, but he liked to feel the weight of them, and to
know that they were safe.

For many miles he was constantly receiving hails from friends and
comrades; sometimes a band of young men would ride with him for a
few miles, and then, wishing him good luck, return home again. At
some houses which he passed, bright eyes would look out from the
windows, and kerchiefs would be waved in greeting and farewell.

Tom may perhaps be forgiven for regarding himself somewhat in the
light of a young prince riding forth to see the world. Everything
in his past life had combined to give him a good opinion of
himself, and make him fancy himself irresistible alike with men and
women. For he was undoubtedly the strongest and handsomest youth in
his own small world.

He sang and whistled as he rode along in the crisp morning air.
October had dashed the trees with vivid tints of red and gold. A
crisp touch of frost was in the air, and though the noonday sun was
bright and hot, there were indications of approaching winter plain
to be seen.

They baited their horses for an hour at a little inn where Tom was
slightly known; but when he spoke of pressing on, and asked where
the next halting place was, mine host advised his remaining where
he was till morning, as he was now close to the forest boundaries,
and not only were the paths somewhat intricate, but there were
always footpads, if not worse, lurking in the recesses of the wood,
ready to pounce upon unwary travellers, especially after sundown.

"And the light goes quickly beneath the trees. For my part, I would
rather travel by the waxing light of early morn than by the fading
glow of an autumn evening."

Tom had meant to arrive at this inn full two hours before he did;
for he had allowed his friends to hinder him on his way, and had
stopped all too often to exchange a word with some maiden watching
from a window or by a gate. He had intended reaching a little
village known to Robin, situated in the forest itself, before night
fell; and even as it was, he was by no means prepared to abandon
the hope of getting there.

Robin was not afraid of darkness or of footpads. He had a very good
knowledge of the forest, and was eager to press on. It was still
quite light, and Tom was in all the fervour of his first
impetuosity. So, as soon as the horses were baited and themselves
refreshed, they mounted once more, and pushed gaily along, feeling
themselves quite equal to repel any wretched footpads who might try
to assault them.

As for the regular highway robbers, well armed and well mounted,
they favoured better-frequented routes than this. Open heaths were
their favourite hunting grounds, though they liked well enough to
lie in hiding in the forests when they had brought too much
notoriety upon themselves. These unfrequented forest paths did not
offer them sufficient hope of booty to attract them in large
numbers, and Tom had no fear of meeting an enemy too strong for
him.

But security is not always safety, as Tom was destined to find to
his cost. In spite of their best efforts, and the gallant response
made by their good horses, dusk fell whilst they were still
threading the tortuous forest paths, and Robin was fain to admit
that he would be puzzled to find the way in the dark; indeed, he
was not certain that he was on the right track now.

It was impossible to ride fast in the gathering darkness, and upon
so rough a way; and Tom had more than once suggested that they
should make their bed in some hollow tree, and wait for daylight
before pursuing their journey.

They had halted in an open place, and were just discussing the
matter, when--whiz!--a bullet grazed the flank of Wildgoose, and
the mettlesome creature reared straight into the air, threatening
to fall backwards over his rider.

"Mark ho!" cried a loud voice, and there was a crackling of the
underwood all round.

"It is the footpads!" cried Robin. "I have beard that call before;"
and in a moment the travellers had their pistols out, and were
warily awaiting the first sign of attack.

It was not long in coming. Three men with blackened faces sprang
out from different places, and the crackling of the underwood
showed that more were lurking out of sight.

Tom took steady aim, and brought down the foremost villain at the
first shot; but Robin was not so lucky. He winged his man, but did
not drop him, and the next moment four stalwart figures had sprung
out to the aid of their comrades, and the travellers were
surrounded.

Tom set his teeth hard, a great fury in his heart. He took aim
again, and another of his assailants dropped as he pulled the
trigger; then, setting spurs to Wildfire, who was well-nigh
distracted with terror at the noise and the flash in the darkness,
he rode clean over the man who had sprung at his bridle rein, and
calling to Robin to follow him, he sped away in the darkness at a
pace which was risk to life and limb.

The footpads seemed taken aback by this move, for they had reckoned
that a headlong flight into the recesses of the forest would be too
great a peril to be risked; and indeed it was a headstrong course
to take. But Tom was in a headstrong mood, and his horse was beside
himself with fear. Both man and beast were well used to reckless
riding, and Tom had eyes like a cat, whilst Wildfire had both the
wonderful sight and wonderful instinct of his race. Tom lay along
the horse's back, now on this side, now on that, dodging, swaying,
manoeuvring, in a fashion which showed marvellous horsemanship, and
all the while listening eagerly for the sound of Wildgoose's
following steps.

But he heard nothing. The silence of the forest was unbroken save
for the noise he made himself. It became plain at last that he was
alone. Robin and Wildgoose had either lost his track, or had not
followed him.

And a sudden doubt surged into Tom's brain as to whether or not
Robin had betrayed him to the footpads. Was it not Robin who had
connived at all the halts upon the way in the morning, Robin who
had advised pushing on, and had undertaken to find the way by day
or night? Robin was a son of the forest himself. Might he not have
friends amongst these very outlaws? Had not his father warned him
before this that he did not trust Robin, and did not like his son's
intimacy with the young man?

All these thoughts came surging into Tom's brain as he rode on
through the dark forest. He was loath to harbour doubts of his
servant and friend; but he could not lay them to rest, do what he
would.

But for these doubts he would have ridden back in search of his
comrade. As it was, he set his teeth somewhat grimly, and rode
onwards. Robin had no money about him. He would escape with the
loss of his horse, and could follow his master on foot to London if
he chose. It was not worth while to risk life and fortune in
attempting the rescue of a fellow who might be a villain and a
traitor.

It seemed a heartless thing to do to leave Robin to his fate, but
for all that Tom could not make up his mind to turn back and search
for him; for he felt it was quite probable he would only fall into
a cunningly-devised ambush. But he could not ride all night through
the forest. He might fetch a circuit all unknowingly, and find
himself in the midst of the footpads again. The moon had now risen,
and was giving a faint light. By its aid Tom was able to examine
the nature of the ground about him, and presently saw at a short
distance a dark, arched cavity in the face of a mass of gravelly
rock which rose up on his left hand. It had the appearance of a
cave, and Tom got off and carefully examined the loose shale round
the mouth of it for the trace of recent footsteps. He did not want
to fall into the hands of a band of marauders.

But he could not see any trace of footmarks, either of man or
beast; and the cave was tempting to one who had ridden since early
morning. There was a pool of water close at hand, where his horse
eagerly stooped to quench his thirst; and Tom loosed the girths,
and left the creature to browse at will; for Wildfire was as tame
as a dog, and knew his master's voice well. He could be trusted not
to wander far away, and to come back at the sound of whistle or
call. Indeed, it was probable that he would presently find his way
into the cave, and lie by his master's side.

Tom found that he could make himself comfortable enough in the
little cavern. It was not very deep, but it afforded protection
from the cold night wind; and a great heap of leaves at the end
bespoke the fact that other travellers had utilized the place
before. Tom had a little food in his wallet, which he munched in
silence, feeling his spirits somewhat damped by the events of the
last hour, and yet he was as fully resolved as ever to see life and
taste of adventure before he returned home again.

His adventures had begun rather before he had bargained; but, after
all, that was the way of life. He would learn in future to trust
nobody and to believe in nobody. All men were liars--did not the
Scriptures say as much? It was as well to learn that lesson soon as
late. He would not waste a regret upon Robin. His horse was the one
friend in whom he would trust. He at least would never betray or
desert him.

Presently Wildfire, having eaten his fill of herbage, came and
snuffed at the cave's mouth with a whinny of inquiry. On hearing
Tom's voice, he stepped lightly in, and after standing for a while
beside his master, lay down between him and the opening to the
cave, so that Tom was well shielded from the keen night air, and
could sleep as snugly as in his bed at home.

Sleep he did, and soundly too; for the day's ride had wearied him,
and he was of the age and temperament when slumber is seldom wooed
in vain. How long he slept he knew not; but he was aroused at
length by a movement of Wildfire. The horse had lifted his head,
and was snorting slightly as if in anxiety or fear.

Tom looked out. The gray of dawn was in the sky, and between him
and the light stood a tall, motionless figure, outlined clearly in
the cave's mouth by the coming glow in the east. It was the figure
of a man. He held in his hand a great horse pistol, and was
evidently studying with some curiosity the sleeping figures whose
slumbers he had disturbed.

Tom would have sprung to his feet, but the man called out in a
clear, sharp voice:

"Keep where you are, or I fire!"

The hot blood surged into Tom's cheeks; but for once prudence took
the upper hand of valour, and he remained sitting upright behind
the still recumbent figure of Wildfire. He had restrained the horse
from rising by the pressure of his hand. He knew by hearsay that
robbers seldom fired upon a good horse if there were a chance of
making a capture of so valuable an acquisition. He might find
shelter behind the body of the good steed yet.

"What do you want with me?" he asked, speaking as calmly as he
could, but bitterly regretting the carelessness which had omitted
to load again his pistol after the brush with the footpads of the
previous night. He had meant to do it before falling asleep, but
drowsiness had come quickly upon him, and he was now practically at
the mercy of the man who stood in the cave's mouth, for there was
no way of escape save past him.

"I only want your money, my young friend," answered the man, whose
face was becoming more visible every moment in the growing light.
"I doubt not you have a bag of gold pieces somewhere upon your
person. Give them up to me, and you shall go your way in peace."

The veins on Tom's forehead swelled with rage and impotent fury. He
set his teeth, and his voice sounded hoarse and choked.

"You will have to take my life first," he said.

"Nay, but that is folly," remonstrated the elder man, who had a
rather fine face, and much of the air and manner of a gentleman, as
Tom was quick to perceive. "I desire no man's death; I only ask for
his gold, which is, after all, but the dross of the earth; and life
for a fine young fellow like yourself is full of joyous promise,
even though he carry no purse with him."

"I tell you," answered Tom, in the same stubborn way, "that if you
take my money, you will have first to take my life. Here have I
been leading the life of a dog or of a boor all these years--squire's
son though men call me. I have seen nothing, I have learned nothing;
I have consorted with low hinds; I have been no better than the swine
in the fields. Now at last I have my liberty and a bag of gold given
to me. I am sent out to see the world, and to enjoy life. Take my
gold from me, and I must perforce go back to the old life. I would
choose death sooner. Therefore, sir, let us fight like men for this
same bag of gold; for I will defend it with every drop of my blood!"

And in spite of the peril of so doing, Tom sprang to his feet and
stood facing his antagonist with the air of a man whose blood is
up, and who will prove no mean adversary.

"Come now, I like that spirit," said the other. "In these days of
dandies and ruffled courtiers, stuffed with fine-sounding words but
puling cowards at heart, it refreshes the spirit to meet a
youngster of your sort. Tell me your name, young master, and let us
talk this matter over together. I have ever sought to mingle mercy
and discretion with the need for making a livelihood out of my
fellowmen."

Tom was surprised into a short laugh at this unexpected address.

"I am Tom Tufton of Gablehurst," he began, but was quickly
interrupted.

"What! the son of the good Squire of Gablehurst! Lad, is this the
truth?"

"Ay, verily," answered Tom, somewhat taken aback. "Did you know my
father? Alas! he is dead."

"Dead! What! Is that so? Then the world is the poorer by one good
man. And you are his son, and called by his name! What are you
doing away from home? Are you not master there?"

"No," answered Tom, with a flush on his cheek. "I am to see the
world first. My mother will rule for me till I be five and twenty.
I have money given me, and I am to seek fame and fortune afar. That
is what I said to you. Take my money from me, and I must needs
return to the life I have left--and I would sooner die!"

"Tut, tut, boy. Speak not so wildly; nor think that I will touch a
penny of your good father's gold. I am not sunk so low as that. Did
he ever speak to you of Captain Jack, whom he once saved from the
gallows?"

Tom shook his head. His father had not been a talking man.

"It was years ago now," said the man thoughtfully, "and I did try
for long after that to lead a different life; but in the end I came
back to the one I love the best--the free life of the road. But
believe me, Tom Tufton, your father's act of clemency has never
been forgotten. I too have shown mercy many a time and oft. I have
my own code of honour and chivalry. I want money badly enough; but
I will touch none of yours. I want a good horse; but I will lay no
finger on yours. Go your way in peace, and drink your fill of the
world's pleasures; but remember that if the time should come when
you want a friend and a place of refuge, ask at The Three Ravens
tavern on the skirts of this forest for news of Captain Jack, and
whensoever you may come to me, I will share my last penny and my
last crust with you, for love of the good man your father, who
saved my unworthy life."

The man spoke with visible emotion and Tom was moved also, he
scarce knew why. A sudden sense of liking--almost of love--sprang
up in his heart towards this freebooter. He laid a hand upon his
arm.

"Take me clear of this forest," he said, "and I will leave Wildfire
in your hands as a token of gratitude. I have bethought me often
that in London town he would pine his heart away. He loves the
green glades of the woodland, and the free air of the fields and
forests. Methinks you would be a kind master; and he is a loving
and faithful creature. I might even lose him in London, where, they
tell me, rogues abound. I would sooner leave him in your hands; and
if I want him back some day, I will ask him of Captain Jack."

The bargain was struck. Captain Jack accompanied Tom to the
farthest limits of the forest, giving him meantime much information
about life in London, and astonishing him by the intimate knowledge
he possessed of life in every grade of society.

Tom listened in wonder and amaze; but Captain Jack answered his
questions in such a way as to leave him little the wiser. He
managed, however, to make friends with Wildfire almost as quickly
as with his master; for the two men rode by turns, and Captain
Jack's horsemanship was of that finished kind which every horse
understands and responds to.

"You are right not to take such a creature into London," said
Captain Jack, after trying the paces of Wildfire over a stretch of
springy turf. "Some sharper would soon make away with him; but it
will be a clever man who filches him from me! I will guard him as
my greatest treasure, and he will be worth more to me than the
guineas you carry in your bag."

"And his brother is somewhere in the forest," said Tom; and he told
the story of Robin and Wildgoose, to which Captain Jack listened
with a look of amusement.

"Clever fellow! clever fellow!" he muttered, "he will make one of
the brotherhood one of these days!"

Tom began to realize, with a grim sense of humour, that he was
aiding and abetting the mischievous schemes of some notorious
highwayman, and that his father's two favourite young horses, by
which he set such store, were destined to become the property of
the gentlemen of the road!

At the limits of the forest Tom and his companion parted. He had
been put upon the highroad, and given careful instructions as to
the way he must take. Moreover, Captain Jack had given him a
password, which, he said, would protect him from molestation;
although a traveller on foot was not in the same danger as one who
rode a fine horse.

It cost Tom a pang to turn his back on Wildfire; but he felt so
certain that the horse would pine in London, or be stolen away,
that he preferred to leave him in the hands of a kind master who
would treat him well.

"Take your fill of life. Keep open eyes, and believe every man to
be a rogue till he prove himself an honest fellow," was the parting
advice of his companion, for whom he had already taken rather a
strong liking; "and if ever town becomes too hot, come and join
Captain Jack; and if ever you should chance to knock up against
Lord Claud, tell him that his old master sends him greeting and
felicitations, and is watching his career with admiration and
delight."

With that the captain turned and galloped away; and Tom was left
looking after him, wondering what the meaning of this last charge
could be.



CHAPTER III. IN GAY LONDON TOWN.


Tom Tufton walked through Bishopsgate, and along the crowded dirty
thoroughfare towards the Poultry, with a jaunty air of unconcern
that did credit to his powers of dissimulation.

It was Captain Jack's parting word to him to dissemble all outward
signs of astonishment at what he might see when he entered the
city; to walk on without stopping to stare or gape, to look as
though such sights were of everyday occurrence in his life, and to
bear himself with a bold and self-sufficient air, as much as to
tell the world at large that he was very well able to take care of
himself, and that roisterers and bullies had better let him alone.

Tom acted his part with considerable acumen; but within he was
consumed by astonished bewilderment, which increased as he turned
westward towards Cheapside, and approached the still fashionable
regions of Holborn and its environments.

The streets appeared to the country-bred youth to teem with life.
Everything he set eyes on was strange and wonderful. The shops with
their wares displayed, and noisy apprentices crying out to buyers,
or exchanging fisticuffs with each other by way of interlude; the
coaches carrying fine ladies hither and thither, tightly laced,
swelled out with hoops, their hair so towering in its lace and
powder as to provoke the query as to how it had ever attained such
gigantic proportions; the gay gallants in their enormous perukes of
powdered hair, and their wonderful flowered vests and gold-laced
coats--all these things provoked the keenest wonder and amazement
in Tom's breast; albeit he walked on without pausing to examine one
more than another, or to exchange a word with any save some
honest-looking shopman, of whom he would ask the way to Master
Cale's shop just off Holborn.

If Tom had lost on the way to London his servant and both his
horses, he had at least gained some information which might be of
more value to him than all the rest of his possessions; for Captain
Jack had told him to go to Master Cale's and lodge with him,
telling him who had sent him, and had added that he would put him
in the way of becoming a proper gentleman of fashion, without
fleecing him and rooking him, as would inevitably be the case if he
fell into the clutches of those birds of prey always on the lookout
for young squires from the country coming up to learn the ways of
the world, with a plentiful supply of guineas and inexperience.

Master Cale seemed to be well known, and he was directed to his
house in almost the same words by each person he asked. Master Cale
was a perruquier of no small popularity, who had risen through
honesty and ingenuity to be one of the most fashionable tradesmen
of the day. He also sold vests or waistcoats, lace-edged neck
cloths, gloves, sword scarfs and girdles, generally of his own
design; yet though his shop was regularly crowded with gallants and
courtiers, the man himself managed to preserve much of the honesty
and simplicity which had been his making in the days gone by.
Everybody liked and trusted Master Cale, and he was said to be the
best-informed man in London town on matters connected with the
court and its fashionable throng of hangers on.

As Tom walked onwards he realized for the first time in his life
what a rustic-looking fellow he must appear. He had felt himself
smart enough at home in his leather breeches, brown frieze
double-breasted coat, scarlet vest, and riding boots, his hair tied
behind with a scarlet riband to match the vest. But as he beheld
the fine gentlemen lounging arm in arm along the streets in their
huge curled wigs, gorgeous waistcoats reaching sometimes to the
knees, gold embroidered coats, with huge cuffs turned back almost
to the elbows, and scarfs of every hue of the rainbow supporting
their swords, he felt himself a mere boor and bumpkin, and wondered
much whether Master Cale would ever be able to turn him out a fine
gentleman, fit to associate with those he saw in the streets.

As he pursued his way westward, he met parties of young rakes and
roisterers setting out for the theatres, the play being then an
earlier function than it has become of late years.

These men were swaggering along arm in arm, exchanging ribald jests
with each other, and insulting the inoffensive passers by with
coarse remarks interlarded with oaths, and, whenever occasion
offered, tripping them up with their swords or canes and landing
them in the gutter.

Some of these worthies wore cockades or badges, and later on Tom
learned to know them as Darby captains, Tash captains, or
Cock-and-bottle captains, according to the special sort of
marauding which they favoured. He met one party of the dreaded
Mohocks, or Mohawks, reeling along half intoxicated already, and
ripe for any offensive mischief, which later in the day they were
certain to perpetrate. They eyed the young rustic askance as it
was, and Tom heard a whisper go through their ranks:

"Pity 'tis so early i' the day, or we'd sweat him rarely."

But he held his head high, and swaggered along as though he felt
himself a match for all and any who might attack him. Yet inwardly
he felt that he would never go abroad in town without a sword at
his girdle. What the "sweating" might be, he knew not; but he was
assured that it was some sort of assault upon his person.

At length he reached his destination, which was a shop of fine
appearance in Drury Lane, just off the main thoroughfare of
Holborn. It was then a street of some pretensions, albeit a narrow
one, and Tom's eyes soon espied the name he was in search of over
the door of a shop round which a score or more of gallants were
lounging. In the doorway itself stood a very fine youth, at least
he was fine as to his raiment, although he wore no wig and was but
an apprentice of better figure and deportment than most. He was
displaying to the admiring crowd a mighty fine waistcoat of
embroidered satin, worked in gold and colours very cunningly, and
trimmed with a frosted-gold cord of new design and workmanship. It
was this waistcoat, which the young man called the Blenheim vest,
that had attracted the crowd, and Tom could not at first get near
the door, so much chaffering and laughing and rough play was going
on round it.

So he filled up the time by seeking to understand the extraordinary
jargon which was spoken by the young dandies, in which he was not
particularly successful (for in addition to a marvellous assortment
of oaths, they talked a mixture of bad English, worse French, and
vilest Latin), and in examining the signboard which hung out over
the doorway of Master Cale's abode.

This sign had been painted to the perruquier's own design, at a
time when there threatened to be a reaction in favour of natural
hair in place of the monstrous perukes so long worn. The picture
represented a young man clad in all the finery of a fop of Charles
the Second's court, save only the peruke, hanging by his hair from
the limb of a giant oak, with three javelins in his heart, whilst
below sat weeping a man in royal crown and robes; and below this
picture there ran the following legend:

"O Absalom! O Absalom!
O Absalom! my son,
If thou hadst worn a periwig
Thou hadst not been undone."

In the window of the shop was set out an array of the most
wonderfully curled wigs, perfect marvels of the perruquier's art;
and, indeed, the size of the young dandies' heads was a study in
extravagance quite as wonderful in its way as the towers upon the
heads of the ladies.

When presently the group had moved away, and the apprentice in the
fine vest had a moment's leisure, Tom came forward and asked if
Master Cale were within.

The youth regarded him with some insolence of manner, but as he
might be addressing a future customer from the country, he replied
with a show of civility that Master Cale was in the room behind the
shop, curling the perukes of some gentlemen, but that Tom could go
inside and wait if he liked. This he accordingly did, and soon the
apprentice was surrounded by another crowd, and was taking orders
thick and fast for the Blenheim vest.

The talk bewildered Tom, who, however, needs must listen, and
presently he was attracted towards the inner room, where half a
dozen young men, with heads almost as bald as those of infants,
were arguing and laughing about the curl and fashion and set of
their wigs, which were all standing in a row upon the blocks, and
being cleverly and carefully manipulated by the deft hands of a
small and dapper man, in a neat but not inelegant suit of brown
cloth, ornamented by rather large silver buttons, whom Tom saw at a
glance must be Master Cale the perruquier, although all his
customers called him "Curley."

Heads were turned upon Tom's entrance, but the gentlemen only
vouchsafed him a haughty stare, whilst the perruquier bid him be
seated till he had leisure to attend to him. He then adjusted upon
each head its own wig, amid much jesting and gossiping that was all
Greek to Tom; after which the gallants filed out with much noise
and laughter, and the little man turned to his unknown customer.

"What can I do for you, young sir?" and his eyes instinctively
sought the head of the rustic youth, which was crowned with his own
fairly abundant locks of dark brown.

"I come to you, Master Cale, with a few words in writing from one
calling himself Captain Jack, whom I met in Epping Forest, and who
told me I should be fleeced and beggared in a week if I fell into
the hands of the sharpers of London town; but that if I sought
lodging and counsel from you, I might learn my lesson without being
ruined thereby. Here is the note he sent to you."

The shrewd face of the little perruquier had taken an almost eager
look as the name of Captain Jack passed Tom's lips. His eyes
scanned the youth from head to foot, and when Tom took out and
handed him the note which had been given him, he seized it and read
it eagerly, after which he turned to his new client, and said:

"This billet, young sir, would be enough to secure you a welcome
from me. Tell me of my good friend Captain Jack. Ah! if he could
have but stuck to honest trade, he and I might have made our
fortunes together ere now. Never was such a figure for showing off
coat or vest or sash, or a head upon which a peruke sat with a
daintier grace. But come, let us sit down together and quaff a cup
of wine, and you shall tell me all your history."

Dusk was falling between the high walls of the houses, and business
was over for the day. Cale led his guest into a room on the
basement floor, where a simple but substantial refection had been
laid out. He called out to his apprentice to get his supper in the
kitchen; and when the door was shut upon the pair, he listened with
interest whilst Tom gave a very fairly accurate history of his own
life up till the present moment.

Then the little man shook his head with an air of wisdom.

"The best advice I could give you, my young friend, is that you
should go home to your mother and your friends in Essex, and seek
to learn no more of the wickedness of the world than you know
already. But I suppose no words of mine would induce you to take
that course."

"Certes no," answered Tom with a short laugh. "I am sick of the
country. I have come forth to see the world, and see it I will, or
know the reason why."

"Ah yes, so says every moth that flutters round the candle, till
his wings be burnt away, and he left the shattered remnant of what
he erstwhile was," responded Cale, with a wise shake of the head.
"But no man ever yet was found wise enough to take experience at
second hand. So if you are bent on seeing the world--which, let me
tell you, is an evil thing at best--I will try, for the love I bear
to Captain Jack, and indeed to all honest youths, to put you in the
way of seeing it with as little hurt to yourself as may be. And so
you are thinking of foreign travel?"

"I was, till I saw what London was like," answered Tom; "but, i'
faith, I am in no haste to quit it till I have seen its sights and
tasted of its pleasures. Methinks I might go far, and spend much
good gold, and not find the half of the diversion which the streets
of London afford."

"Oh, if it be diversion you seek--"

"It is," answered Tom frankly; "diversion, and the game of life as
it is played elsewhere than in the lanes of Essex. I have seen
enough in one afternoon to excite a thirst which can only be
allayed by drinking from the same fountain. So no more talk of
Essex, or even of lands beyond the seas. I will e'en get you to
write a letter to my mother, telling her that I am safely arrived
in London town; and knowing that, she must make herself easy, for I
was never one who could easily wield a pen. I was always readier
with the sword or the quarterstaff."

"There will be fine doings in London town, too," remarked Cale,
rubbing his nose reflectively, "when the Duke lands, and is
welcomed by all the town as the great victor of Blenheim. Yes,
certainly, you should stay to witness that sight. Afterwards we can
talk of what you had better do. They are always wanting fine-grown
young fellows for the army. Perhaps when your store of guineas is
gone, London will not hold you so fast."

"My store will last a long while," answered Tom, confidently
slapping his inner pocket where the bag of gold rested. "I have
five hundred golden guineas, the legacy of my father; and to that
my mother added another hundred, to fit me out with all things
needful for my travels, which things could not well be purchased in
Essex. Now Captain Jack bid me at once hand over to you my money,
which, he said, would melt in my pocket like snow, if it were not
filched away by thieves and rogues. He bid me place one hundred
guineas with you for my board and outfit, and trust that you would
do honestly by me; and the rest was to be put into your keeping, to
be doled out to me as I should have need. It seems a strange thing
to be taking the counsel of a highway robber in such matters. But I
like you, Master Cale; and I am just wise enough to know that my
guineas would not long remain mine were I to walk the streets with
them. So here I give them into your keeping; I trust you with my
all."

"I will give you a receipt for the amount, my friend. Many men have
made me their banker before now, and have not regretted it. You
shall have a comfortable room above stairs, and you can either be
served with your meals there, or take them with me, or at some
coffee house, as best pleases you; and as for the outfit--why, it
will be a pleasure to clothe a pretty fellow of your inches in
fitting raiment. But be advised by me; seek not to be too fine.
Quiet elegance will better befit your figure. I would have you
avoid equally the foppery of the court beaux and the swaggering
self-importance of those they call the bully beaux, with whom you
are certain to make acquaintance ere long."

Tom was willing to listen to advice in these matters, and the
little perruquier soon threw himself almost with enthusiasm into
the subject of the young man's outfit. They spent above two hours
looking over cloths and satins and scarfs, trying effects, and
fitting on perukes. Tom had never before imagined how important and
engrossing a matter dress could be, nor how many articles of attire
were necessary to a man who wished to cut a good figure.

But at last he grew weary of the subject, and said he would fain
take a stroll in the streets, and breathe the outer air again. He
felt the stifling presence of encircling walls, and longed to get
out into the starlit night.

"The streets are none too safe at night for peaceful citizens,"
remarked Master Cale, with a shake of the head. "But I have a
peruke to take to a client who lives hard by Snowe Hill. If you
needs must go, let us go together; and gird on yonder sword ere you
start. For if men walk unarmed in the streets of a night, they are
thought fair game for all the rogues and bullies who prowl from
tavern to tavern seeking for diversion. They do not often attack an
armed man; but a quiet citizen who has left his sword behind him
seldom escapes without a sweating, if nothing worse befall him."

"And what is this sweating?" asked Tom, as the pair sallied forth
into the darkness of the streets.

Here and there an oil lamp shed a sickly glow for a short distance;
but, for the most part, the streets were very dim and dark. Lights
gleamed in a good many upper windows still; but below--where the
shutters were all up--darkness and silence reigned.

"Sweating," answered Cale, "is a favourite pastime with the bullies
of London streets. A dozen or more with drawn swords surround a
hapless and unarmed passer by. They will close upon him in a
circle, the points of their swords towards him, and then one will
prick him in the rear, causing him to turn quickly round, whereupon
another will give him a dig in the same region, and again he will
jump and face about; and so they will keep the poor fellow spinning
round and round, like a cockchafer on a pin, until the sweat pours
off him, and they themselves are weary of the sport. But, hist! I
hear a band of them coming. Slip we into this archway, and let them
pass by. I would not have my wig box snatched away; and there is no
limit to the audacity of those bully beaux when they have drunk
enough to give them Dutch courage. Discretion is sometimes better
than valour."

So saying, he pulled Tom into a dark recess, and in a few minutes
more there swaggered past about six or eight young roisterers--
singing, swearing, joking, threatening--more or less intoxicated
every one of them, and boasting themselves loudly of the valiant
deeds they could and would do.

They did not see the two figures in the archway. Indeed, the
greatest safety of the belated citizen was that these bullies were
generally too drunk to be very observant, and that a person in
hiding could generally escape notice. After they had passed by,
Cale continued his way quietly enough, following the noisy party at
a safe distance, as they too seemed bound towards Snowe Hill.

They were approaching the top of the hill when a sudden sound of
shrieking met their ears, mixed with the loud laughter and
half-drunken shouts of the roisterers. Tom caught his companion's
arm and pulled him along.

"That is a woman's voice!" he cried quickly. "She is crying for
help. Come!"

"Beshrew me if I ever again walk abroad with a peruke at night!"
grumbled Cale, as he let himself be hurried along by the eager Tom.
"I am not a watchman. Why should I risk my goods for every silly
wench who should know better than to be abroad of a night alone?
Come, come, my young friend, my legs are not as long as yours; I
shall have no wind for fighting if you drag me along at this pace!"

It was the urgency of the cries that spurred Tom to the top of his
speed. The laughter was loud and ceaseless, but the shrieks were
becoming faint and stifled. Tom's blood was boiling. He pictured to
himself a foul murder done. A few seconds before they reached the
spot a new sound greeted their ears--a sort of rattling, bounding
noise--which provoked another peal of uncontrollable laughter.

Then a voice was heard shouting:

"The watch! the watch! or some fellows with swords!"

Immediately the whole band broke up and rushed helter-skelter in
all directions. Not that the bullies feared the watch one whit. The
watchmen were mostly poor, old, worn-out men, who could do little
or nothing to impose order upon these young braggarts. Indeed, they
were so often maltreated themselves, that they just as often as not
kept carefully away when cries were raised for help. But, having
had their fun, the roisterers were ready to disperse themselves;
for some of the citizens would rise in a white heat of rage, and
take law into their own hands, in which case it happened that the
disturbers of the peace came off second best. One of them had seen
Tom's tall figure and the sword in his hand as he ran beneath a
lamp, and had fancied that some more determined rescue than that
afforded by the watch was to be given. So the band dispersed
shouting and hooting; and Tom and Cale found them scattered ere
they came up to them.

"But where is the woman?" asked Tom, looking round; "they have not
surely carried her off?"

"Oh no--only sent her rolling down the hill in a barrel!" panted
Cale; "it is a favourite pastime with the youths of London town.
One party will put a barrel ready in yon doorway on purpose, and if
it be not removed, it will like enough be used ere morning. We had
best go in search of the poor creature; for ofttimes they are sore
put to it to get free from the cask--if they be stout in person at
least."

And, indeed, as they neared the foot of the hill, they heard a
groaning and stifled crying for help; and, sure enough, they found
a buxom woman, the wife of a respectable citizen, tightly wedged
into the cask, and much shaken and bruised by her rapid transit
down the hill, although, when released with some difficulty, she
was able to walk home, escorted by her rescuers, and bitterly
inveighing against the wickedness of the world in general and
London's young bullies in particular.

"The best thing, good dame, is not to be abroad at such an hour
alone," advised Cale.

"Yes, truly; and yet it was but the matter of a few streets; and it
seems hard a woman may not sit beside a sick neighbour for a while
without being served so on her way back. My husband was to have
come for me; but must have been detained. Pray heaven he has not
fallen in with a band of Mohocks, and had the nose of him split
open--to say nothing of worse!"

"Are men really served so bad as that?" asked Tom, as the two
turned back from the citizen's house whither they had escorted
their grateful protegee.

"Worse sometimes," answered Cale, with a shake of the head. "Those
Mohocks should be wiped out without mercy by the arm of the law;
for mercy they show none. They have read of the horrid cruelties
practised by the Indians whose name they bear, and they seek to do
the like to the hapless victims whom ill-fortune casts in their
way. There be men whose eyes they have gouged out, and whose noses
have been cut off, whose brains have been turned by the terror and
agony they have been through. And yet these men go free; and
law-abiding citizens are allowed to quake in their beds at the
sound of their voices in the street, or the sight of their badges
even in broad daylight. I call it a sin and a shame that such
things can be. Well, well, well, let us hope that, when the great
Duke comes home, he may be able to put a stop to these things. Even
in warfare, men say, he is merciful, and will permit no extortion
and no cruelty. We citizens of London will give him a right royal
welcome; perchance we may be able to crave a boon of him in return.
He--or, rather, his wife--is all-powerful with our good Queen Anne;
and she would not wish a hair of a man's head hurt could she but
have her way."

"By the Duke you mean the great Duke of Marlborough, who has done
such great things in the war? But what is the war about? Can you
tell me that, for I have never rightly understood?"

Cale was a great politician in his own eyes, and was well versed in
the politics of the day. He strove hard to make Tom understand the
intricacies of the Spanish succession, the danger of allowing Spain
to be ruled by one of the Bourbons, and the fear of the
all-powerful French king, who seemed like to rule Europe, if the
allied powers could not make head against him. Tom did his best to
understand, and got a rather clearer view of the situation than he
had before; but what interested him most was the information that
the Duke would come over to England shortly, and that a magnificent
reception was to be given to him.

Whigs and Tories had alike grown proud of the victorious general,
and the war had become popular from success, though the drain on
the country was great. The Queen was personally liked, although she
was but a small power in the kingdom; and for the time being
Jacobite plots were in abeyance. So long as she lived, nobody was
likely seriously to desire the return of the banished Stuarts; but,
of course, there was the future to think for. Anne had no child to
succeed her; and the thought of the Hanoverian succession was by no
means universally approved. Still for the moment the Jacobite
agitation was in abeyance, and all England rejoiced in the
humiliation of so dangerous a foe as the great monarch of France.

Cale was full of stories of court gossip respecting the Queen and
the Duchess of Marlborough, whose affection for one another was a
byword throughout the realm. The Duke and Duchess were also most
tenderly attached; and the private lives of Anne and her Prince
George, and of the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, presented a
bright contrast to the general laxity of morals prevailing at the
time. The rather austere rule of William and Mary had not really
purged the court of vicious habits, though such had been steadily
discouraged. Anne had not the force of character to impose her will
upon her subjects; and extravagance, frivolity, and foppery
flourished amazingly.

Tom felt his head in a perfect whirl as Cale chatted on of this
thing and that, passing from politics to court life, and then to
the doings of the wealthy classes, of which he had an intimate
knowledge.

"By my faith, London must be a marvellous place to live in!" quoth
Tom, when at last he had been shown to the chamber prepared for his
reception. "I feel as though I had been a year away from
Gablehurst. Prithee, bestir to get my clothes ready, good Master
Cale; for I shall know no rest till I have been abroad myself, and
have seen these gay doings with mine own eyes!"



CHAPTER IV. THE FOLLY.


A very fine fellow did Tom Tufton feel a few days later, when,
arrayed in all his new finery, he surveyed himself from head to
foot in Master Cale's long mirror, kept in the best light afforded
by the back room, for the benefit of the fops and dandies who
desired to see the effect of the finery purchased from the
fashionable perruquier.

Cale had used discretion, and urged the same upon Tom, in the selection
and fashion of his garments, and had sternly discountenanced anything
like undue extravagance and foppery. Tom had insisted upon the Blenheim
vest, with its rich flowering on the white satin ground, and its
trimming of golden cord; but for the rest he had permitted Cale to
select what he would, and was perfectly satisfied with the long coat
of claret-coloured cloth, with a modest trimming of gold cord, and
turned-back cuffs (showing the white lawn full shirt sleeve beneath),
which set off his tall and well-made figure to advantage. The breeches
were of the same cloth, but showed little, as silk stockings were drawn
high up over them, almost meeting the vest or waistcoat, which was
always long.  He had shoes with high though not extravagant heels, and
gilt buckles; a gold cord with tassels adorned his jaunty three-cornered
hat; and his girdle and sword belt were of gold silk and cord.

But perhaps Tom was most proud of his periwig--an addition to his
outfit which he had insisted upon rather against the advice of
Cale, who had offered to curl and powder his own hair in an
imitation of the prevailing mode. But Tom would not be denied the
fashionable peruke. He had spent the best part of each day seated
behind a screen in Cale's inner shop, listening in a species of
fascination and amaze to the talk of the young dandies who daily
resorted thither. Cale told him that he would thus best learn
something of the language and gossip of the day, and be better able
to hold his own when he went abroad; and Tom already felt that he
possessed command of a thousand new epithets and words, to say
nothing of the meaningless oaths and blasphemies, which made a part
of the stock in trade of every fashionable man's vocabulary.

And now he stood regarding himself with complaisant satisfaction,
feeling that he could ruffle it with the best of them. He had heard
too much talk of periwigs not to feel resolved to wear one himself.
Unless he did so, he felt he should never take his place in the
world of fashion. His natural hair had therefore been cut close to
his head, the peruke was fitted on, and fell in bushy curls to his
shoulders.

Tom could not forbear a smile as he turned his head this way and
that to judge of the effect. He felt indeed a pretty fellow,
prepared to take his share in the drama of life going on about him.

"Harry Gay shall be your companion," said Cale, who had assisted at
the toilet with the interest of a connoisseur, and who did not
attempt to disguise his satisfaction at the result. "Harry is as
gay as his name, but he is a well-meaning youth, and will neither
rob you himself, nor suffer others to do so without warning you. He
knows London well, and the life has hurt him less than it hurts
most. He is brave without being a bully; he can play, and knows
when to stop. He is afraid of no man, and so he is left alone. He
has a good heart, and is to be trusted; and here he comes in good
time to take you under his care."

The young man who now lounged in with a smiling face and a nod of
recognition to Cale, was not unknown to Tom. He had seen him
several times, and had taken a liking for him, which the other
reciprocated. Harry Gay was the son of a leading merchant citizen,
a man of some importance and mark, who was able to give his son
every advantage that money could purchase, and the means to enter
almost any circle short of that of the court itself.

But he had also transmitted to his son a certain hard-headed
shrewdness, which stood him in good stead in the gay life he was
now leading. Harry had the sense not to try to push himself amongst
the high-born dames and gallants, where he would be regarded as an
interloper, and only admitted to be fleeced of his gold; but
contented himself with a more modest sphere, where he was a man of
some little mark, and could lead as well as follow, if he had the
mind.

Entering the back shop, Harry cast an approving glance at Tom, and
nodded his head towards Cale, at the same time taking a pinch of
snuff from his box, and handing it to the perruquier.

"Does you credit, Curley, does you great credit. A chaste and
simple costume, but elegant withal--uncommon elegant, i' faith.
Shouldn't mind a suit of the same myself, if I had our young
friend's inches.

"Well, friend Tom, and how do you feel? Learned to take snuff yet?
No! Ah, well, 'twill come by degrees.

"Put some more scent upon his person, Curley; he must smell like a
perfumer's shop; and so--give him his gold-tasselled cane, and the
gloves with the golden fringe. A muff? No! Well, perchance those
great fists would look something strange in one, and the day is
fine and mild.

"So, if you are ready, friend Tom, we will sally forth. To the
coffee house first, and afterwards, an it please you, to the play.

"Farewell, Curley; I will bring you back your nursling safe and
sound. He shall not be rooked or robbed today. But how long I shall
be able to hold the cub in leading strings remains yet to be
proved!"

Tom was in far too good spirits to take umbrage at this name. He
felt anything but a cub as he walked down the street beside his
scented and curled and daintily-arrayed companion, unconsciously
striving to copy his jaunty step, and the little airs and graces of
his manner.

"We will to the Folly," said Harry, as they stepped out into
Holborn and turned their faces westward. "You have not yet seen the
river, and the Folly is a floating structure moored in the water on
the farther shore opposite to Somerset House, of which you may have
heard. It is not the most fashionable resort; but, for my part, I
like it well. There is always good company to be had there, and we
are not interrupted every moment by the incursions of drunken
roisterers, who spend their day in reeling from tavern to tavern,
or coffee house to coffee house, in search of some new story to
tell, or some fresh encounter to provoke."

Tom listened eagerly to all his friend told him as they went their
way towards the river. So far he had not cared to show himself in
the streets till after dusk, as he had become foolishly ashamed of
his rustic garb. He was immensely interested in all that he beheld,
and in the stories his companion told him about the places they
passed, the persons they met, and the occupants of the coaches
which were now rolling to and fro through the streets, taking
ladies and their fine gentlemen friends either to the park, or some
fashionable rendezvous.

Great indeed was his interest and amazement as they reached the
steps beside the river, and Harry signalled to a waterman to bring
up a wherry alongside to take them to the Folly. He had never
imagined anything so wide and grand as this great flowing river,
lined with its stately buildings, and bearing on its bosom more
vessels than he imagined that the world held! Had it not been for
his fear of betraying undue ignorance, he would have broken into a
torrent of questions; as it was, he sat in wide-eyed silence,
gazing about him like a savage suddenly transported into the world
of civilization--not a little to the amusement of his cicerone.

The Folly was a floating structure not unlike a large houseboat of
the present day. Its guests could walk to and fro upon the roof, or
find warmth and entertainment within its walls, as did Harry and
his friend; for although the sun shone, the wind blew cold upon the
water, and it was pleasanter within the warmed interior, where
already a sprinkling of guests had assembled.

The place was divided into two rooms for the public accommodation.
The first of these was a bar and gaming room. A buxom and
rosy-cheeked damsel was presiding at the bar, and several young
dandies leaned their elbows upon it, and strove to engage her in
conversation. Some others were already seated at a table, and were
throwing the dice, laughing and swearing ceaselessly over their
game. The second room was quieter at present, and upon the table
there lay strewn about the various newspapers and pamphlets of the
day. Two or three men were reading them, and discussing the news of
the hour as they sipped their coffee or chocolate.

Harry led the way into this place, ordered coffee for himself and
his friend, and, whilst nodding familiarly to the occupants of the
room, possessed himself of a few papers, and pushed some of them
across to Tom.

"A new pamphlet by Jonathan Swift, I see," he remarked carelessly,
with a wink at his pupil. "You know his Tale of a Tub, Tom?
Monstrous clever thing that! It tickles one to death reading it. So
do his pamphlets--sharpest things out. Some talk of Defoe as his
rival; but, for my part, I never read anything that rivals Swift's
writings! Pity he has such a sharp edge to his temper. They say he
will never get promotion."

Tom took up the pamphlet, and tried to look as though he were
reading it with appreciation; but he had never been much of a
student, and the comings and goings of a constant stream of
visitors engrossed him far more than the printed words, the meaning
of which he understood no whit.

It was much more interesting to him to listen to what the
frequenters of the coffee house were saying amongst themselves; and
greatly did he admire the ease and readiness with which Harry took
his share in the conversation.

"Has my Lord Godolphin found a worthy pen to sing the praise of the
victor of Blenheim yet?" he asked of a man who appeared to be a
referee on matters literary. "The last I heard was that he was
scouring London, tearing his periwig in pieces in despair that the
race of poets was extinct, and he could only find the most wretched
doggerel mongers, whose productions were too vile to be tolerated.
Has the noble lord found a better rhymster? Or will the victory of
the great Duke have to go unsung by the Muse?"

"What! have you not heard the end of that matter? Why, my Lord
Halifax declared that he knew the man worthy of the occasion; but
he would not reveal the name unless it was promised that he should
be excellently well treated. And this man is none other than Joseph
Addison, a fellow of the University of Oxford, and a man well
thought of and pensioned, too, by the late King William. But since
the death of His Majesty, the poet has been living in poverty and
obscurity in a humble lodging hard by the Haymarket. There it was
that he received a visit one day from the two noble lords; and it
hath since been whispered that a poem is a-preparing so fine in
quality and so finished in style, that my Lord Godolphin is now fit
to dance a hornpipe for joy, and has promised a bountiful reward to
the genius whose brain has devised and whose hand has penned the
lines. They say that the poem is to be called 'The Campaign,' and
that it is one of the finest the world has ever seen."

Whilst this sort of talk was going on in one corner, there were
counter-conversations, more interesting to Tom, being carried on in
other parts of the room. One band of bully beaux, somewhat the
worse for drink already, were telling stories of scandal and
duelling, to which Tom could not but listen with ill-concealed
interest. Others were discussing the last new play, or the last new
toast. A few fine dandies sat combing their periwigs as they talked
of the latest fashions, taking snuff freely, and sprinkling
themselves with perfume from a small pocket flask, if they were
ever too nearly approached by some commoner person.

As time passed by the quieter men, who had come early to read and
talk politics and literature, withdrew themselves and took their
departure. Harry Gay was claimed by a party of dashing-looking
young rakes, who insisted that he should come and play a game of
tic-tac with them in the outer room; and as Tom made no move to
accompany him, he left him in his seat in the corner to look on and
learn all he could.

Tom, indeed, was quite fascinated by the scene around him, and had
no desire to tear himself away. Presently one of the men from the
group of bully beaux (as Tom had dubbed them, not by any means
incorrectly) moved nearer to him, and took the chair vacated by
Harry; and gradually the group reformed, with Tom as one of its
members. The others addressed him, asking his name and his history.
Tom was reserved as to this last, but spoke in a frank and easy way
which seemed to win upon his comrades. There were four of them, and
whatever might be their real names, Tom found out that they were
known amongst themselves, and by the world of the tavern, by the
following cognomens: "Slippery Seal," "Bully Bullen," "Thirsty
Thring," and "Dicing Dick."

Tom was not sure that he liked or approved these new comrades, but
at least their conversation interested and excited him. They told
of duels fought in the ring at Hyde Park, or at the back of
Montague House; of the exploits of highwaymen, and the executions
at Newgate, which were plainly favourite spectacles with them. They
told of the doings of themselves and other marauders in the streets
of London, and roared with laughter over their exploits. Tom,
ashamed of his real disgust, strove to laugh too, for he dreaded
above everything to be thought a man lacking in spirit; but perhaps
his face betrayed more than he meant, for his comrades began to
gibe him in a fashion which made his hot blood rise; and he might
have got into trouble before Harry could come to the rescue, had it
not been that a sudden hush fell upon the room, whilst the word
went round, spoken in every intonation of curiosity, respect, and
admiration:

"'Tis Lord Claud himself! Hither he comes! Certes, but he is a fine
figure of a man! So he has not grown too fine for his old haunts,
though men did say that he was the pet and the favourite of all the
court ladies!"

At that name, heard once before from the lips of Captain Jack, Tom
looked round in great curiosity and eagerness. Immediately he was
gratified by the sight of the entrance into the inner room of the
person who was the cause of all this subdued commotion.

The newcomer was a very handsome man, of slender and graceful
proportions, tall and elegant, and dressed in the extreme of
fashion, yet with a taste that robbed foppery itself of any
appearance of absurdity in his case. He looked quite young at the
first glance; but a keen and practised eye could detect lines in
that gay and handsome face which only time could trace. Probably he
was past thirty by some years, yet many men of five and twenty
looked older. The only thing in which he differed materially from
his brother dandies was that he wore his own hair in lieu of the
wig; but so abundant and beautiful was it, lying upon his shoulders
in large curls of tawny golden hue, and clustering with a grace
about his temples that no wig ever yet attained, that not the most
ardent upholder of the peruke could wish him to change the fashion
of his coiffure, which, in fact, gave to his outer man a touch of
distinction which was well borne out by the elegance of his
deportment and costume.

Tom stared his fill at the newcomer, who was attended by several of
the habitues of the coffee house, and received their welcome with a
languid grace and indifferent goodwill. He was speedily
accommodated with the best seat in the room. Conversation was
hushed to listen to his words; the most fragrant cup of coffee was
brought to him by the beauty of the bar herself, and his orders
were dispatched with a celerity which was lacking to any other
customer.

Small wonder was it that Tom, gazing and marvelling, asked in a
whisper of the man next him:

"Who is it?"

"Lord Claud, of course, you rustic cub," was the scornful reply,
for politeness did not distinguish Tom's new friends. "Any fool
about town could tell you that much."

"I know it is Lord Claud," answered Tom, somewhat nettled; "but who
is Lord Claud? That is what I meant by my question."

Another laugh, not a whit less scornful, was the reply to this
second query.

"He'll be a clever fellow who tells you that, young greengoose from
the country!" was the answer, only that the words used were more
offensive, and were followed by the usual garnishing of oaths and
by blasphemous allusions to Melchisedec, from which Tom gathered
that nothing was known to the world at large as to the parentage or
descent of the man they called Lord Claud, and that this title had
been bestowed upon him rather as a nickname than because it was his
by right.

The babble of talk, hushed at the entrance of the newcomer, began
to rise again when he took up one of the journals, and appeared
disposed for reading rather than conversation. Tom, unable to take
his eyes off the elegant figure, still continued to ask questions
respecting him, but was more puzzled than enlightened by the nature
of the replies.

"There had been other Clauds before him," one of the men remarked.

Another added that it was easy to be rich when the king was made to
pay toll.

Slippery Seal wished, with a laugh and an oath, that he were half
as slippery as the great Lord Claud; and Bully Bullen remarked that
if he could but get such a reputation for duelling, he would play
the bully to better purpose than he did now.

This band of four were getting noisy and quarrelsome. They had been
drinking steadily ever since they came in, and their cups of coffee
had been tinctured by something much stronger. They were getting up
their energies for their nightly prowls about the city, and thought
it no bad start to bait young Tom first. Of course he had betrayed
his ignorance and rusticity in a hundred little ways. Although he
began to understand a little of what passed around him in the
interlarded speech of the day, he could not frame his tongue to any
adequate imitation of it yet. He had learnt, alas, to swear in his
old life; but there is a fashion even in oaths, and his were too
rustic in form to pass muster here.

As the bully beaux got deeper in their cups, so did their baiting
of young Tom increase in offensiveness and coarseness. The hot
flush of anger kept rising in the young man's face, and there were
moments when a fight was imminent, which was perhaps what the
aggressors desired. Harry was still in the outer room, or he would
have interposed, for it was not a nice thing to be the butt of a
set of braggarts and bullies, and this fashion of drawing a young
man into their clutches was by no means unusual.

Suddenly, as matters seemed to be getting ripe for some outbreak of
fury on Tom's part, which might well lead to disastrous results, a
sudden clear, resonant voice rose above the hubbub, and dominated
all other tones by a peculiar property impossible to describe.

"Let that lad alone, you cowards!" spoke the voice, in tones of
unmistakable authority. "Get out of this place, you swaggering
bullies! Are we to have no peace even in this inner room, for your
filibustering ways? Go and bluster out yonder, if bluster you must.
Speak a single word of insolence to me--" and here the blue eyes
seemed to flash fire--"and I will have every one of you ducked in
the Thames three times ere you take a step from hence! Now, will
you go quietly?"

It was strange to see the change which came over these young rakes
the moment that the clear, cold tones of Lord Claud's voice fell
upon their ears. They stopped, they cringed, they looked one at the
other, and then back at him, as a whipped dog looks at the master
who rates him. Thirsty Thring, who had drunk the most deeply, and
who was in consequence most filled with Dutch courage, ventured
once to look as though he were about to resist, or to dispute the
mandate of Lord Claud; but no sooner had he provoked that flash of
the eyes, than he too was cringing more humbly than his fellows.

To the great amazement of Tom, they took up their hats, and slunk
from the room like so many whipped curs. He heard them the next
minute chartering a wherry to take them to the shore once more.

Lord Claud had taken up his paper again, but meeting Tom's bashful
glance of mingled gratitude and admiration, he remarked to him with
a quiet smile:

"You are a stranger to London and its sons, lad; take this bit of
advice from one who knows both well: Never let any man badger and
insult you. Take no word from any; but return it with a blow or a
sword thrust. Make your name feared--it is the surest road to
success. Tavern and street brawls are taken little note of by the
administrators of the law; but better a few weeks' discipline in
Newgate, than to be the butt and victim of a set of vulgar street
swaggerers and swashbucklers such as those worthies we have just
seen depart."

Tom had risen and had slowly approached Lord Claud. Now that the
hour for the play had all but come, the room was thinning of its
guests. He felt more courage to speak to this strange being, who
seemed so great a personage.

"I thank you, sir, for sending them away. I will seek to follow
your good counsel in the future."

And then, after a moment's hesitation, he added, "Sir, are there
more than one Lord Claud in this great city of London?"

"Not that I am aware of," answered the other, with a lighting of
the eyes. "Some would tell you that one was enough even for so vast
a city and realm as this!"

"Because," continued Tom, "I was charged with a message for one
Lord Claud, and I marvel that it can be your worshipful self, for
he that sent it was a strange man to speak of himself as your
master."

A laugh shone in the dark blue eyes of the other.

"In sooth I call no man my master," he answered lightly; "but tell
me the name of him who sent this message, and I shall know if it be
for me or not."

"He called himself Captain Jack," answered Tom, "and I met with him
betwixt my home in Essex and this city. He was dwelling in the
heart of the great Forest of Epping."

Upon Lord Claud's face there had come a look of vivid interest and
pleasure; yet he laid a finger upon his lips, as though to caution
Tom, who, indeed, had spoken in a tone too low to be heard by any
one else.

"Any news of or from Captain Jack is right welcome in mine ears,"
he said; "but this is not the time or place in which to speak of
such things. Come tomorrow morning early to my lodgings in the
Mall--any man will direct you to them--and there we will speak at
ease. Forget not--tomorrow morning by ten o' the clock, ere my
levee has begun. I shall expect you. Farewell, good youth, and keep
your distance with those gentlemen you have just left. They would
like to spit you as a goose is spitted, but I would see you again
ere that consummation be achieved!"

He nodded to Tom, and took up his paper again; and Tom, turning
round, encountered the amazed glance of Harry, who had come in to
find him, and discovered him in friendly converse with the greatest
man of all the company.

"How now, Tom! But you have a mettlesome spirit after all, if you
can scrape acquaintance with Lord Claud. I have been in his company
many a time, but never a word has he vouchsafed to me. And are you
invited to his lodgings? Surely my ears must have deceived me!"

"In sooth he asked me, but it is only to hear a message I chance to
bear from an old friend of his. Harry, tell me who is this Lord
Claud? Men seem to worship the ground he treads upon, and yet to
fear him, too, more than a little."

It was after they had reached the streets again that Tom put this
question, and Harry answered it by a knowing shake of the head.

"I should have the makings of a fortune in me," he answered, "if I
could tell who Lord Claud was. There be many fine ladies, and
curled darlings of fashion, who would give much to know that
secret."

"But if he be a lord--"

"Ah, indeed--a wise 'if'! He is no more a lord than I am! That much
I can tell you. But the name fits, and he wears it with a grace.
There be ladies in high places, too, who would not be averse to
share it with him, and be my Lady Claud, even though no other name
might be hers."

"But he is very rich; and rich men--"

"Rich!--ay, verily; and so should I be rich, if every time my purse
was empty I helped myself to Her Majesty's gold, as it traversed
the road from place to place!"

Tom stopped short as though he had been shot.

"A highwayman!" he gasped.

Harry bestowed upon him a sage glance and a mocking laugh.

"That is your word, not mine, my friend. Breathe it not before his
lordship! But there be many who swear that he is none other than a
grandson of the famous Claud Duval of olden days, and that he rolls
in the wealth he has filched from royalty itself."

"And yet he lives like a prince, and all the world pays him court!"

"Oh yes--it is the way of the world; a successful villain is as
much an idol as a successful general. The tide may turn. All high
positions have their dangers. Remember nothing has ever been proved
against him; but men think and whisper, though not in his presence.
Town talk may or may not be true; and the ladies like him none the
less for the tales that circulate about him. But come now, no more
questions, or we shall be late for the play!"



CHAPTER V. WITH LORD CLAUD.


Cale shook his head; but Tom was resolute. He had fallen under the
spell of the so-called Lord Claud's personality--like many another
before him--and whatever the upshot of the matter might be, he was
going to accept the invitation accorded him, and visit that
personage in his lodgings.

"Have a care, lad, have a care," advised the little perruquier.
"All is not gold that glitters; and many a fine lad has been led to
his ruin ere now by following some headlong fancy of his own."

"I will be careful," answered Tom, with the careless confidence of
inexperience. "Did I not come back last night with nothing spent
save the price of the theatre and my coffee and supper? You said
yourself I had done well. So give me now ten guineas, and I will be
gone; for I was told to be early."

Tom had no difficulty, once he had reached the Mall, in finding
Lord Claud's rooms; for everybody knew where they were situated,
and looked with some respect upon Tom for inquiring. He was
received at the door by a very fine lackey, and taken up a wide
staircase, so richly carpeted that the footfall could not be heard
upon it. Everywhere his eyes rested upon strange and costly
products of foreign lands, such as he had never dreamed of
heretofore. Later on he learned that Lord Claud had won this
sumptuous suite of rooms from a rich young nobleman at the gaming
table, and had stepped into its luxury and collected treasures with
never an effort on his part. It was the fashion of the day to stake
house and lands, wealth, and even honour, upon the cast of the dice
or the fall of the cards; but that Tom did not yet know.

He followed the servant into a large and lofty bedchamber, the like
of which he had never seen before. He could have spent an hour in
examining all the rich and curious things it contained; but a voice
hailed him from the bed, and there lay Lord Claud, in a nest of
snowy pillows, his golden head and fair complexion giving him an
almost girlish aspect, albeit the square set of the jaw and the
peculiarly penetrating glance of the dark-blue eyes robbed the face
of any charge of effeminacy.

He was clad in a sort of dressing jacket of silk and lace, fine
enough for any lady; and the bed was draped in silk from the
Indies, worked in a fashion that set Tom agape. A few volumes of
poetry, half a dozen letters, scented and delicately twisted, and a
silver salver bearing an empty cup stood beside him. His servant
removed this latter, and at a sign from his master withdrew; and
Tom was motioned to take the lounging chair which stood beside the
bed, and from the recesses of which he could watch Lord Claud, as
he did, with a sense of fascination.

"Early afoot, in sooth, my young spark from the country! Ah, it is
a fine habit, that of early rising. I practised it once myself, so
I speak with authority. But what would you in this Babylon? And, i'
faith, what is there to do before the afternoon to tempt a man from
his couch? I have scarce had four hours' sleep as it is. There was
no getting away from my Lady Betty's reception last night. Egad, I
believe that fair votary of the Graces ruins more young bloods than
any sharper in the town! Have a care of your guineas, my young
friend, if ever you find yourself sitting down to the card table
with her!"

"That is not likely," answered Tom modestly. "I am but the son of a
country squire. I have come to London to see somewhat of the life
there; but I look not to consort with the fashionable ones of the
earth."

"We shall see, we shall see. A golden key opens all doors--at
least, nearly all. And you have not come empty-handed from home, I
warrant. And that reminds me of your words of yesterday. You bring
me a message from my quondam friend, Captain Jack. I would hear
news of him; so tell me all the tale."

Tom told the tale simply enough, and Lord Claud listened with
unaffected interest, nodding his head once or twice at hearing the
terms of the message delivered for himself.

"Ah, good Captain Jack! So he is still in the free forest! Well,
well, well, perhaps he has chosen the better part. There be times
when I look back at the old free life of peril and adventure, and
my soul sickens at the weary round I see day by day. Who knows but
the time may come when I will break these gossamer bonds! Ah, I
might do worse--I might do worse--ere my youth and courage are
fooled and squandered away."

He seemed almost to have forgotten that he had a listener, and to
be musing aloud; but, catching the wondering glance of Tom's eyes,
he recollected himself with a smile, and stretching out a white yet
muscular hand, he said, with an air of winning grace:

"My young friend, I have taken a liking to you. I like you because
you bring to my jaded senses a whiff of the free air of field and
forest, as well as a message from one to whom I owe much. I am sick
to death of the inanities of the dandies and fops of the town.
Shall we be friends and comrades, good Tom? I trow you might do
worse than make your Mentor of me--little though I look the part of
the preceptor of Telemachus!"

Tom could scarce believe his ears at this proposition; he blushed
and stammered almost as though it were some fair lady wooing him to
friendship. Lord Claud laughed at his embarrassment, and presently,
taking up one of the notes beside him, threw it across to Tom,
saying:

"Read that, my young friend; I have a reason just at this moment
why I would fain have a trusty friend beside me. What! thou canst
not make sense of the jargon! Well, it is jargon; in that thou art
right, honest Tom. Men talk in a fashion which fools might gibe at.
But 'tis the fashion, the fashion, and what would you? Be i' the
fashion--or perish! That is the choice before us."

"But how can I serve you, my lord?" asked Tom eagerly.

"Hast ever taken part in a duel, good fellow?" asked Lord Claud,
with a keen glance at the stalwart youth.

"I have fought many a battle in play and in earnest," answered Tom,
"with my fists, with the sword, and with the quarterstaff. I have
no knowledge of the ways of town fights, such as I heard talk of in
the Folly yesterday; but--"

"But you have a stout arm, an honest heart, and a tongue that will
not wag when it is bidden to be silent? Is that so, honest friend
Tom?"

"My lord, I would not speak a word to living soul if you bid me be
silent; and I would stand by you to the death!"

"'Tis a sudden liking you have taken for my unworthy self."

"Prove me, my lord, if it be not as sound as it be sudden."

Lord Claud stretched out his hand, and Tom's great fist met it.

"This liking on sight is a strange matter; yet I seldom mistake my
man. Tom, I am going to trust you to act as my second in a little
affair I have with another gentleman tomorrow morning, in a certain
spot of which I have knowledge. Another man was to have acted for
me--he has, indeed, made all the arrangements; but, as yon note
informs me, he was mixed up in a brawl last evening at the gaming
house, and lies abed with a broken arm. 'Tis not a matter I would
have get wind, else there be a dozen men who would serve my turn. I
had rather one silent, steady comrade than a score of chattering
jays. So you shall be my friend, Tom, and see what duelling is
like."

"You are not in danger of death, my lord, or grievous bodily hurt?
Else I fear I should break the rules of the game and dash to your
succour!"

"Tush, boy!" answered the other, with a gleam in his eyes, "I have
yet to find my match with the rapier; I shall get off without a
scratch, you will see. Whether or not I kill my man will depend
upon his behaviour. I love not slaughter for its own sake, but
there be those whose jaunty insolence rouses the devil within me;
and then I strike and spare not."

"And for what cause do men fight duels?" asked Tom.

"The question is a wide one, and smacks of innocence on your part,
Tom. Generally a woman is the cause; but there be other matters
too--wounded self-esteem or vanity, revenge, envy, evil passions of
all sorts. But, egad, in these days it takes little to provoke the
combat! Why, it is but a few months ago that two young sparks met
in mortal conflict because, forsooth, one of them had declared that
Venus was the goddess of love and beauty, whilst the other affirmed
that it was Aphrodite!" and Lord Claud leaned back upon his pillows
and laughed aloud; laughing still more when he found that he had to
explain to Tom the nature of the confusion which had prompted the
duel.

Time was fast flying as the two oddly-assorted comrades talked, and
soon the valet appeared at the door with the perruquier in his
wake, informing his master that several gentlemen waited below, and
that all was in readiness for the morning toilet.

"Heigh-ho!" sighed the young exquisite. "Why can we not rise from
our couches like the beast of the field, give ourselves a shake,
and be ready for the day's work? These levees are the bane of my
life. But fashion, fashion, fashion! She is the goddess of the
hour. Tom, sit over yonder, and watch the follies of thy kind. Keep
a quiet tongue, and I'll see you are not baited.

"And now, let in the popinjays and chattering monkeys; for the
sooner we begin, the sooner comes the end!"

The next two hours presented a marvellous spectacle to Tom. There
were perhaps some eight to twelve young sparks about town coming
and going during that time, some remaining the whole toilet
through, others roving off to other similar scenes. Whilst the
perruquier plied his skilful hands in the curling, powdering, and
arranging of Lord Claud's abundant golden hair, which some days was
powdered and some days left as nature had ordered, they sat beside
him in a row upon the bed and chattered of all the latest bits of
scandal, the wittiest retorts of this or that sprightly dame, the
on dit of the town, the quarrels of the gaming houses, and the
doings of the court.

When Lord Claud left his bed and began arraying himself in the soft
and costly array provided by his valet, his friends amused
themselves by joining with him in the perfuming of his person;
borrowing his essences to sprinkle upon their own fine clothes,
washing their hands in milk and perfume to make them white and
delicate; and calling to his valet to re-tie and arrange their
lace-edged cravats in imitation of the style affected by Lord
Claud.

Some of them removed their wigs, and asked the perruquier to give
them an extra powdering; others got at the cosmetic boxes upon the
toilet table, and gave a touch of carmine to cheeks which the
night's revel had left wan. Some gave infinite pains to the
arrangement of a patch to resemble a dimple; and all desired to dip
their handkerchiefs in the silver bowl of rare scent which was
offered almost the last thing to the master of all these luxuries.

Tom sat in his corner and looked on in amaze. He had felt himself a
very pretty dandy whilst being arrayed in his new clothes in Cale's
shop, but he felt like a raven amongst peacocks in this company;
and it would have taken nothing short of the testimony of his own
eyes to convince him that these were men and not women engaged in
all this pranking and personal adornment.

Many curious glances had been thrown in his direction at the first;
and a few of the guests sauntered up from time to time, and entered
into conversation with him. Tom observed, with some satisfaction,
that there was respect, if not admiration, in their manner, and he
wondered what had caused this; for yesterday he had received
mockery and taunts as his portion from men of much less distinction
than Lord Claud's friends.

He had not heard the words Lord Claud had spoken to his guests on
their arrival--or, rather, he had not understood them, since they
were spoken in the French tongue.

"A friend of mine--a fine young fellow--a son of the forest--best
let alone, gentlemen, by those who value a sound skin," Lord Claud
had said, with a careless laugh.

His friends drew their own conclusions, and looked at Tom with
respect. Lord Claud knew exactly what they were thinking, and
laughed in his sleeve.

The valet was now perfuming the gloves, and giving just the jaunty
cock to his master's hat which best suited its shape.

"Now, gentlemen, I will bid you farewell for the present," said
Lord Claud. "I and my friend have business of our own. We may meet
again at the play ere long. Off with you each to his own favourite
tavern. For my part, I have other fish to fry today."

With that he swept them a fine bow, and the room cleared as if by
magic. It was one of this man's arts that he could rid himself of
the buzzing crowd by one look or gesture when he had the mind.
Valet and perruquier followed the retreating guests, and Lord Claud
drew a breath of relief.

"There, honest Tom; we are well rid of the chattering
magpies--screaming peacocks were the better word, or painted
popinjays. Now to business; for I must keep a steady head and quiet
hours today. Are you anything of a swordsman, my friend?"

"I was accounted a good enough fighter in my own village," answered
Tom; "but everything here is so different. My methods may be
useless against the skill of men trained in a different school."

"We will put that to the test, and that quickly," said Lord Claud;
and forthwith he led his companion out of the house and through
several unfamiliar streets, till he reached a building rather
larger than its surrounding neighbours, into which he walked with
the air of one well used to the place.

First they passed through a large hall, the floor of which was
thickly sprinkled with sawdust; but, without pausing, Lord Claud
mounted a staircase in the corner, and led Tom into a large upper
room, the walls of which were adorned by rapiers with buttons at
the end, where a man was sitting polishing the foils and humming a
tune to himself. He rose instantly upon seeing Lord Claud, and made
a deep bow.

"I have come to try a bout at sword play with a friend of mine,"
explained the latter, stripping off his coat, and signing to Tom to
do the same. "Give us two well-matched weapons; for we have none
too much time to spare measuring and comparing."

Tom's blood quickened at the feel of the rapier in his hand. He had
always loved these encounters with the sword, whether in play or
earnest. He had not lacked training of a certain rude sort, and his
wrist was strong and supple, his eye wary and keen; moreover, he
had length of reach and strength of muscle. After the first bout
Lord Claud gave him an approving nod, and, looking at the man who
stood by, remarked:

"There is the making of a fine swordsman in the lad, is there not,
when he has learnt more finesse and quickness?"

"The gentleman does well," answered the man, with a shrewd glance
at Tom's tall and well-knit frame. "He may be worsted in a sham
fight, but, methinks, in sober earnest he would be an ugly customer
to meet."

In the next bout Lord Claud showed his antagonist some of the
dexterous feats of rapid sword play, with the result that Tom was
rather hard pressed; but for all that he did not lose his head, and
soon began to master the tricks of attack and defence, the quick
lunge and the quick recovery which perplexed him at first; and in
the next bout he showed so much skill and address that his opponent
and the onlooker alike applauded.

"Very good, Tom, very good," said Lord Claud. "You will make a
notable swordsman one of these days. Now I shall leave you here for
an hour with worthy Captain Raikes, and he will give you a lesson
in fencing which you will not fail to profit by. After that I will
come back for you, and take you elsewhere.

"Captain Raikes, I have a little affair on hand tomorrow morning. I
would fain try a pass with you, to see that my hand has lost
nothing of its cunning."

"Not much fear of that, my lord," answered the master of the place,
as he took the rapier from Tom; and the next minute the youth from
the country stood in silent admiration and amaze, whilst the two
blades crossed and flashed, and twined and clashed, with a
precision and masterly deftness which aroused his keen delight and
envy. To become a proficient like that would be something worth
living for; and his quick eyes studied the movements and methods of
the two adversaries, till he felt he had begun to have some little
notion of the tricks by which such results were attained.

When Lord Claud came back to fetch him, at the end of the
stipulated hour, it was to find young Tom without coat, vest, or
peruke, and bathed in perspiration; but so keenly interested in the
new science, that it was all his comrade could do to drag him away.

"Egad, Tom, but you will make a pretty swordsman one of these days!
Captain Raikes says he has never had a more promising pupil. You
have winded him as well as yourself. But all that exertion must
have given you an appetite. We will to Pontac's and refresh
ourselves; and when you have cooled down, I will take you to see a
man as great in his way as Captain Raikes with the foils. Oh yes,
you can come again at your leisure for another lesson. But I have
no fears for you, tomorrow, even now. Whatever may betide, you are
no child with the sword."

The coffee house to which Lord Claud now conducted him was a much
finer and more select place than the Folly, and Tom was much
interested in the fine company there, all of whom welcomed Lord
Claud heartily, and seemed to desire to draw him into talk.

Although dressed in the height of the fashion, and not without
their fopperies and extravagances, the company here interested
itself less with private scandal than with public affairs, and
there was much talk of the war abroad, and of the return of the
Duke of Marlborough, which it was now thought would take place
before long.

"But he has first to go to Berlin, to cajole the King of Prussia to
send help to Italy, to the Duke of Savoy," cried one of the
company, who seemed best informed on military matters. "It will
take a good one to wring eight thousand soldiers out of His Majesty
of Prussia, but if any man can do it, it will be Johnny Churchill!
I remember him even when we were boys together. He had a tongue
that would flatter the nose off your face, if you did but listen to
him! A voice of silver, and a hand of iron--those are the gifts
which have made the fortunes of my Lord of Marlborough."

"Ay, an iron hand for keeping money when once the fingers have
closed upon it!" laughed one.

"And a wife who rules the Queen, and is bent upon making her
husband the greatest man in the kingdom--though she will always
keep the upper hand of her lord, you will see. Marlborough, whom no
combination of military prowess can daunt, trembles and turns pale
before the frown of his wife!"

"Yet it is not fear but love which makes him tremble," said
another. "Although their children are grown to adolescence, he
loves her yet as dotingly as ever youthful swain loves the Phyllis
of his boyhood's amours!"

"That is nothing to sneer at," remarked Lord Claud, speaking for
the first time. "Rather should we thank Heaven, in these days of
profligacy and vice, that we have a Queen upon the throne who loves
her husband faithfully and well, and a general, victorious in arms,
who would gladly lay down his victor's laurels for the joy of
living in peaceful obscurity at the side of his wife!"

Nobody laughed at Lord Claud's speech, though it would have
provoked mirth if another had given utterance to the sentiment. The
talk went on, however, in the same vein, and Tom listened in
silence, trying to digest as much as he could of the news of the
day.

Lord Claud did not remain long; and when they were in the street
together, Tom asked him of the great Duke, and what had been said
of him. Was he really treacherous and false, loving money above all
else, and careless of the good of the realm, so long as he built up
his own fortunes securely?

"The Duke's career is not without its black spots," answered Lord
Claud. "It is known by all that he deserted the late King James the
Second; but there were reasons solid and sound for that. The
darkest passage in his life is his intrigues against His Majesty
King William, for which he was disgraced for some time. But for all
that his genius is marvellous, and I am very sure he is loyal to
the core to good Queen Anne; albeit a man who will not openly ally
himself with either Whig or Tory faction must expect to make
enemies in many quarters."

"And does he indeed love money so well?"

"Second to his wife, or men do him great injustice. But though they
laugh and sneer at him, I misdoubt me if he loves wealth better
than his traducers; only he keeps a firmer grip upon it, having
indeed no taste for vulgar dissipation. Why, even as a youth he was
mighty prudent."

Here Lord Claud began to laugh, as though tickled by some memory;
and on being questioned further, he told Tom the tale.

"You must know that John Churchill was a marvellous pretty fellow,
with just the same languid grace of bearing that he has kept all
his life; and of which you may judge the effect yourself, good Tom,
ere many weeks be passed. He was a youth about the court of Charles
the Second, and the Duchess of Cleveland took notice of the
handsome, witty lad, and sometimes had him in her rooms to amuse
her. Once they so chanced to be there together, when the steps of
the King were heard approaching; and as His Majesty was like to
think evil of a matter where no evil was, the Duchess was sore put
to it, and looked so affrighted, that young Churchill gallantly
sprang from the window, at the risk of breaking his leg if not his
neck. The Duchess sent him a present of five thousand pounds the
next day; and what does the lad do? Most of his sort would have
squandered it at play in a week; but Johnny Churchill was of a
different kidney. He goes and purchases with it an annuity; so that
come what may, he may never be left quite destitute in his old
age!"

And Lord Claud again burst into a hearty laugh, in which Tom now
joined.

They were now approaching a narrow street hard by the Haymarket,
and his companion knocked at a lowly door, which was opened by a
sombre-looking man in a shabby suit of clothes.

"Is your master within?" asked Lord Claud, who seemed known to all
the world; and the next minute he was striding up the stairs, two
steps at a time; Tom following, and marvelling much at the darkness
of the humble abode, and at Lord Claud's purpose in coming.

A door on the second floor was thrown open, and Lord Claud stepped
gaily in.

"Ha, Master Addison," he cried, "I have come to offer to you my
tardy congratulations for that yet more tardy recognition of merit
which has been your portion at last! And so the great ones of the
land have been forced to come beseeching in person? Ha! ha! that is
very good. And may my friend here--young Esquire Tufton, of
Gablethorpe, in the county of Essex--have the privilege of hearing
some of those wonderful lines which are to take the country by
storm? Come, Master Addison, you know that I am a lover of good
metre and fine sentiment. The words must needs be tingling in your
ears, and lying hot upon your tongue. Let us hear the roll of them,
and I warrant that all London town shall soon be in a ferment to
hear them, too!"

The man of letters was attired in a neat but poor suit of clothes,
and his surroundings were humble and even sordid; but his face was
neither peevish nor careworn, but wore an expression of dignified
contentment and scholarly repose. The walls of his lodging were
lined with bookcases, upon which many a volume was stacked. Poor he
had been for long, but he had not been in the straits that many men
of letters were reduced to in those days. On his desk were strewn
pages of manuscript verse which caught the eyes of the visitors at
once.

"By my halidome! if that be not the poem itself!"

"The rough copy alone, the rough copy," said Addison, who was
walking up and down the narrow room, his eyes aglow, his face a
little flushed. "The fair one is in the hands of the printers. My
Lord Godolphin came himself to hear it read but a few short days
ago, and took it off with him then and there."

"Delighted with it, and vowing that you should be the first poet of
the times, if report be true!" cried Lord Claud.

"He did express his satisfaction," answered the poet quietly. "And
I doubt not I shall receive some mark of favour at no distant date.
But not all the favour of Queen or courtier can give me the title
to poet. That lies in a sphere which not the most powerful
potentate can aspire to touch. The voice of posterity alone can
make or mar that title!"

"But let us hear something of this great poem," cried Lord Claud.
"As I say, it must be burning upon your tongue. Prithee do us the
grace to recite us portions of it."

It was a request palatable to the eager soul of the poet, all on
fire with the work which had occupied his thoughts and pen for so
many long weeks. He still kept up his pacing to and fro; but as he
walked he gave utterance to the well-conned passages of his work,
throwing into the words a fire and a spirit which kindled the spark
in Lord Claud's eyes, and even made young Tom's heart glow with
admiration and wonder, albeit he had never been the votary of
letters.

If high-flown, the language of the day kept it in countenance.
Nothing simple would have found favour at that date. And no one
called the sentiments forced, even though there seemed to be slight
confusion sometimes between Marlborough and the Deity. The
well-known lines upon the battle of Blenheim itself were given with
a wonderful fire and force:

"'Twas then great Marlbro's mighty soul was proved,
That in the shock of charging hosts, unmoved
Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,
Examined all the dreadful scenes of war,
In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed,
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
So, when an angel by divine command
With rising tempest shakes a guilty land--
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed--
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast,
And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm."

"Excellent! excellent!" cried Lord Claud, when the poet at last
flung himself into his chair, exhausted by his own flow of
eloquence. "That will take them! That will hit them! My good
friend, your fortune is made.

"Capital, was it not, Tom? Why, it has raised a sparkle in your
calm bucolic eyes!

"'Tis a fine poem i' sooth, Master Addison; as fine a piece of work
as any man of this day ever produced. You might have seen it all
yourself. You have had information, one can see, from high
quarters. Now tell me, I pray, something in detail of this great
battle;" and forthwith poet and gallant fell to discussing the
campaign in such a fashion as filled Tom with wonder at his
companion, such as he was always feeling.

Lord Claud seemed to have such a masterly knowledge of military
detail, that it was hard to believe he had not at some time been a
soldier himself; and his knowledge of public affairs, and of the
intricacies of foreign and home politics, struck the country-bred
youth as something little short of marvellous.

For hard upon two hours did the two men sit talking, with papers
and diagrams before them; and when at last Lord Claud rose, Addison
gripped him hard by the hand, and declared he was the best company
he had seen for many a long day.

"We are too late for the play, Tom, my lad," said Lord Claud, as
they reached the street. "But, for my part, I have been better
entertained; and if I have wearied you, I crave pardon."

"I am no whit wearied," answered Tom promptly; "but I marvel much
at your knowledge of men and things."

Lord Claud laughed slightly and lightly.

"Keep open eyes and ears as you go along in life, Tom, and you will
learn many things in your turn. And now, methinks, we will take
horse to Earns, and lie there tonight. It will be better for us
than the long ride in the cold of the early morning."



CHAPTER VI. BARNS ELMS.


"You can ride, Tom?" Lord Claud had said, as they sauntered
homewards from the poet's lodgings.

Tom replied that whatever else he was lacking in, he might
certainly lay claim to horsemanship; and the pair walked on
together, Lord Claud sunk in thoughtful silence, his companion
always ready to give his attention to the sights of the streets,
which had lost none of the attraction of novelty as yet.

"Ho! ho! ho!" laughed a voice behind them; "Master Tom the
greengoose has found fine company!"

"A fine comrade, truly, will he find he has got! What becomes of
all the strapping young fellows whom my Lord Claud takes pains to
notice and befriend?"

"They are like the butterflies--flutter for a season and are no
more seen after!"

"Or like the buzzing fly who is lured within the spider's web! 'Tis
easy fluttering in, but there is no getting out!"

"Ay, ay, the gallows noose must feel mightily like the strand of
the spider's web to the silly fly. And as the spider pounces upon
his victim ere it be dead, and sucks away its life blood, so does
the hangman cut down his victim alive and cut out his living heart!
Oh, 'tis a fine sight! a fine sight! Young Tom must e'en go and see
the next execution at Tyburn!"

These words were spoken with caution, and yet every one of them
fell full upon Tom's ears. These ears, be it noted, were very keen
ones, as is often the case with those who have tracked game and
hunted the fallow deer in the free forest. Moreover, Tom had not
yet grown callous to the sounds of talk and laughter in the
streets. He must needs listen to all he heard, and these phrases
were plainly meant to meet his ear.

He glanced at Lord Claud to see if he had heard, but there was no
change in the thoughtful face. His companion appeared lost in his
own reflections, and Tom, dropping a pace behind, looked back to
see who had spoken.

As he had surmised, it was the four bully beaux whom he had met at
the Folly the previous day. So much had happened in the interim,
that Tom could have believed it a week ago. At his look they all
burst into jeering laughter, but it did not appear as though they
desired speech of him, or any sort of encounter, for they plunged
hastily down a side street, and Tom saw that Lord Claud had just
turned his head to see what hindered his companion.

"Pay no heed to drunken roisterers i' the streets, Tom," advised
his mentor; "a quarrel is quicker provoked than mended, except at
the sword's point, and unseemly is brawling at street corners. Yon
fellows bear you some ill will for my threat yesterday. They will
do you a bad turn if the chance offers. They are an evil crew, and
my Lord Mayor has been warned against them ere now; but it is
difficult in these days to give every man his deserts. London would
be depopulated if all who merited it were transported to the
plantations of Virginia."

A little later they met Harry Gay sauntering from one playhouse to
another. He looked with a sort of amused surprise at Tom, who
paused to send a message to Master Cale, to tell him that he would
not be at home that night, and was not to be troubled after in any
wise.

"Do you lodge with Lord Claud?" asked Harry, with a curious glance
towards the elegant figure sauntering on, and exchanging bows with
the fine ladies in the coaches.

"I know not; but I ride forth with him ere long on some errand I
wot not of. Have no fears for me, good Harry, I can take care of
myself well enow."

"You have good confidence, my young friend. I trust it is not the
pride which goes before a fall. It savours of peril to steer one's
bark over unknown waters, or to follow a road which leads no man
knows whither;" and Harry nodded his head in the direction of Lord
Claud, with a gesture that was as eloquent as any words could be.

"Tush!" answered Tom, with something of the careless indifference
he had caught from Lord Claud and his associates; "I have come to
see the world, and see it I will. If there be peril, why, so much
the better. I am sick to death of sitting at ease in the safe
shelter of home. A man can die but once, and he had better live
first."

"Just so, just so," answered Harry with some emphasis; "that is
exactly the sentiment I would most impress upon your inexperience.
A man should live to drink the cup of life, ere it be snatched from
his grasp."

Tom nodded and passed on, not pausing to ponder upon the meaning of
the words he had heard. Indeed, he had small time to ponder, for
his comrade was quickening his steps, and he had to hasten to reach
his side.

"My stables lie this way. We will go and look at the hackneys, and
make choice of one fit to carry those great limbs of yours, my
worthy friend. As for me, a light-made barb will suffice; but it
takes bone and muscle to carry all that bone," and he clapped his
hand upon Tom's shoulder with a little laugh.

The stables were neither very bright nor savoury according to
modern ideas, but for the times they were thought a marvel of
perfection. Tom's eyes soon got used to the dimness, and he was
quickly in a high state of rapture at the evidences of breeding and
pace in the horses stabled there.

That they knew their master well was plain, for all heads were
turned at the sound of his voice, and each animal gave a low whinny
of pleasure at the approach of Lord Claud. He took carrots from a
basket and dispensed them with impartiality to his stud; and,
meantime, he and his head groom talked together in low tones, and
presently Tom was called to the conclave.

"Nell Gwynne will carry you best, Tom. But she may give you a
little trouble. It is not every rider she will brook upon her back;
yet if you can master her, she will bear you to the world's end
faithfully."

Tom approached the mare indicated, who looked at him, laying back
her ears and showing the whites of her eyes, sidling a little over
in her stall with the evident intention of trying to get a kick at
the stranger. But Tom coolly walked up to her head, and began
caressing her with a perfect fearlessness which presently disarmed
her suspicion. She was accustomed to see men flinch and quail
before her, and despised the race accordingly. But the few who bad
no fear of her she recognized as her masters, and she gave them the
love of her heart and the best of her powers.

"That will do, Tom," said Lord Claud's voice from behind; "you have
won my lady's capricious fancy.

"Bring up the mare and Lucifer in an hour's time, saddled and
bridled, and fed for the evening," he added, speaking to the
servant; "you will probably have them back some time tomorrow, but
of that I cannot speak with certainty."

He took Tom's arm as he left the yard, saying in his nonchalant
fashion:

"Sometimes after one of these affairs of honour it is well to take
oneself off for a while. Her Majesty is as much against the
settlement of private quarrels by the appeal to the sword as ever
King William was. However, fashion is too strong even for good
Queen Anne. But it is better not to do more than wing your man. If
you kill him, you run a risk of getting into trouble. But I have no
intention of doing so, unless he provokes me beyond endurance."

"Is he a man of note?" asked Tom, with pardonable curiosity.

"In his way he is; you probably would not know the name; but he has
friends in high places: He and I have never loved each other. He
has balked me more than once, and I have had my revenge at the
gaming table and in other places, which he is not likely to forgive
or forget. The other day he sought to provoke me by almost open
insult. It was not a woman, Tom. I have enough on my hands without
embroiling myself in affairs of gallantry. There are women,
doubtless, who are worth the championship of honest men; but in our
world of London town they are few and far between. Let them and
their quarrels alone, Tom, if you would keep out of trouble."

Lord Claud was speaking now with a sarcastic intonation rather
unusual with him. He was more thoughtful and grave than Tom had
ever seen him, but the youth did not dare to ask the cause. Indeed,
it seemed to him that a man who had a duel to fight upon the morrow
with a dangerous adversary had reason enough for gravity and
thought.

"Tom," said Lord Claud suddenly, breaking a rather long silence, "I
feel sometimes that I have had enough for once of the trammels of
town life. I am weary of the slavery of levee, and gaming table,
and playhouse. There are better things in life than foppery and
idle dissipation. What do you think of it all, my honest Tom?"

"I find it vastly entertaining," answered Tom truthfully; "but I
feel me something out of place amongst all the fine fops I meet
everywhere."

"You would like to travel and see the world? There is another world
besides that of London town."

"I would see more of London town ere I leave it," answered Tom
frankly; "but I would fain see other things and places, too."

"Wilt come farther afield with me, if I go?" asked Lord Claud, with
a quick sidelong glance at the tall figure of his companion. "A man
of thews and sinews, who knows not fear, is the comrade in whom my
heart delights; but there be so few of them amid yon crowd of
painted popinjays."

The compliment tickled Tom's vanity, just as the preference shown
him from the first by so great a man as Lord Claud touched his
naturally quick affections.

"Let me but see this wonderful city first, my lord, and I will
follow you to the world's end!" he cried impulsively.

"You shall have your wish, trusty Tom," answered Lord Claud, his
face clearing and his brilliant smile shining forth. "In sooth, I
have no desire to quit it just yet. I would fain be one of those to
welcome back the great Duke, who will be here ere the year closes;
and you should not miss seeing the pageant which will greet the
victor of Blenheim. It may even be that the Duke himself will find
employment for his poor servants.

"Hast ever heard of the secret service, Tom? No? Well, there be
openings enow for men of courage and resource. It may be that you
and I may find work for us to do. When all Europe is at war,
country with country, and kingdom with kingdom, there is work and
to spare for trusty messengers, stout of heart and strong of arm.
Who knows but that such luck as that may come in our way?"

Tom listened agape, feeling as though his horizon were growing
wider every hour. He had been scarce more than a week in town, and,
behold, all life seemed changed about him. Already he had been
plunged into an adventure which would probably end in the spilling
of blood; and now the prospect was opening out before him of travel
and adventure of a kind of which he had never dreamed. It seemed
impossible that he could be the same raw rustic youth who, a few
short months ago, was accounted the greatest roisterer of his own
county. His doings in the past seemed just the outcome of boyish
spirits. He had been nothing but a great boy in those days; now he
felt that his manhood was coming upon him by leaps and bounds.

At Lord Claud's lodging a repast was awaiting them which was in
itself a further revelation to Tom. He was mightily hungry, too,
and fell upon the good cheer with an appetite that entertained his
host. The food he found most excellent, though seasoned something
too strongly for his palate. But the wines were less to his taste,
and he presently made bold to ask for a tankard of homely ale,
which was brought to him from the servants' quarters; Lord Claud
leaning back with his glass in his hand, and smiling to see the
relish with which Tom enjoyed the simple beverage.

"Ah, the time was when I could quaff a tankard of ale with any man,
and it may well be that I will do the same again in the future. But
now, Tom, we must come and don riding gear, for the horses will be
round ere long. Oh, have no concern as to that. My man will have
ready all that you will need. But those silken hose and that
broidered vest are little suited to the saddle."

And, in very sooth, Tom found himself quickly fitted with a pair of
stout leathern breeches, a cloth waistcoat, and a pair of riding
boots adorned with silver spurs. A riding switch was put in his
hand, and he stood flicking his boots at the top of the staircase
till Lord Claud joined him, dressed in a quiet and most
irreproachable riding suit, which became the elegance of his figure
almost better than the frippery of the first toilet.

The horses stood at the door. Tom walked up to the great mare and
renewed acquaintance with her before swinging himself lightly to
the saddle. She made an instinctive dart with her head, as though
to seek to bite his foot; but he patted her neck, touched her
lightly with the spur, and sat like a Centaur as she made a quick
curvet that had unseated riders before now.

The next minute the pair had started forth in the murky twilight of
the autumn evening; but the moon was rising and the mists were
dispersing. Before they had left the houses behind they could see
the road clear before them, and were able to give their impatient
steeds their heads, and travel at a steady hand gallop.

Tom had approached London from the north, so that all this country
was new to him. He delighted in the feel of a horse betwixt his
knees again; and the vagaries of the high-bred mare, who shied and
danced at every flickering shadow, kept his pulses tingling and his
heart aglow during the whole of that moonlight ride.

Lord Claud said little. He too had need of some horsemanship, for
the black barb he rode was full of fire and spirit. Both riders
kept a sharp lookout as they rode along, for there was never any
security from footpads and highway robbers once they were clear of
the houses. However, there was no indication that any such
light-heeled gentry were abroad that night, and the travellers
reached the little hostelry whither they were bound without any
adventure.

Here they were evidently expected. The host came out with an air of
great respect, and took their horses. Within, a plentiful supper
was prepared for them, to which Tom was ready to do justice after
his ride, though Lord Claud ate little and drank less. Upstairs a
commodious chamber with two beds had been prepared. A fire of logs
burnt cheerily on the hearth; and it was plain that some valet had
been there earlier in the day, for night clothes and toilet
accessories lay about in profusion, to say nothing of a pair of
shining rapiers carefully laid upon the mantel shelf.

Lord Claud took these down and examined them with care. Then he
handed one to Tom.

"Just a few passes, trusty Tom, as is my habit ere sleeping the
night before a duel. I like to make test of the weapon with which I
shall meet my antagonist in the morning."

Tom was delighted to show off his newly-learned skill, and was
complimented by Lord Claud on his progress.

"My adversary's second may desire to cross swords with you, Tom,"
remarked Lord Claud as he began to undress. "'Tis a foolish habit;
but you must not seem to shrink. Show him that you care nothing for
his sword, and I will then interpose to stop the second fight. It
may not be offered; but, again, it may."

And, as the pair prepared for bed, the elder man instructed his
companion in all the details of duelling, that he might be prepared
to play his part on the morrow with confidence and aplomb.

"I have a few excellent rules of my own, Tom, and I have never been
worsted once, and only once wounded. I neither drink, nor dice, nor
dance, nor weary myself the previous day. I go overnight to the
place of meeting, and I retire to bed early and sleep sound. I take
a modest breakfast, without wine or spirit, an hour before the
meeting; and I come to the ground with a head as cool and a hand as
steady as though no such thing as danger or death existed in the
world. Some men pride themselves on sitting up and dicing and
drinking away the night, to show their own courage and their
contempt for their adversary. I prefer to show mine by leaving him
prostrate on the field!"

It certainly seemed as though Lord Claud's methods were good, for
he slept like a child all night, better than Tom did, who had been
greatly excited by the events of the day and the prospect of the
morrow; and when he was dressed upon the following morning, still
in his sober riding suit that became him so well, Tom thought he
had never seen anybody looking so thoroughly master of himself and
his circumstances. The very glance of the eye seemed to bespeak
victory, as did the quiet resolution of the grave mouth.

Breakfast over--an early meal taken by the light of candles, yet
excellent of its kind--and the pair went forth together, Tom
carrying the two rapiers, as it was his duty to do.

The sun was just about to rise, and the mists lying over the river
and fields were growing silver in the light, as they came in sight
of the group of elms which had seen so many foolish and bloody
contests between angry men, some of whom scarce knew why they
fought at all, save that it was the fashion.

From the opposite direction three other figures were
approaching--two tall men and one little one.

"They bring a surgeon," quoth Lord Claud, with a smile on his face;
"perchance they are wise. For myself, I never trouble to do so. I
count a leech a needless encumbrance."

Tom looked curiously at the two foremost men as they drew near. One
of them struck him in particular. He was very tall and very
strongly made, though clumsy in figure and swarthy in face. He had
the look almost of a foreigner, Tom thought, with black eyes that
twinkled with an evil and sinister expression, and never showed
more than as a slit between half-shut lids. He was marked with
smallpox, and had taken no pains, today at any rate, to disguise
the ravages of that malady. He walked a little in advance of his
companions, and when he got near to Lord Claud he stopped and made
a sweeping bow, his eyes the while scanning Tom's face and figure
most closely.

"This is not the gentleman who waited on me," he said in a rasping
voice.

"No; that gentleman is laid up in his bed, and cannot keep his
appointment; but this one will do the business equally well.

"Mr. Tufton of Gablehurst; let me present him to you, Sir James."

The swarthy man looked Tom over from head to foot with an insolent
stare.

"A fine young cub," he said at length, "and well grown for his
years. One of the gang, I suppose?" and there was an ugly sneer
upon his thick lips.

Tom looked at Lord Claud, wondering what the meaning of those words
could be; but the quiet face looked as if carved in marble, save
only that the eyes glowed like fire in their sockets.

He signed to Tom to produce the rapiers; and the second man came
forward and examined and tested them, selecting that which his
principal should use. Then the ground was stepped, the most level
place selected, and the two combatants stripped off coat and
waistcoat, and prepared for the fray.

Tom drew his breath hard as he watched the commencement of the
fight, and his face was full of anxiety, as he felt that the man
addressed as Sir James had weight and length of reach beyond
anything that Lord Claud could command. But for a while both the
men fought warily and without attempting to get to close quarters,
and Tom began to lose his first breathless excitement, and to watch
the play of shining blades with more coolness and observation.

Two rounds had been fought, and neither man was wounded. But whilst
Lord Claud looked just as cool and steady as at the start, the dark
adversary was flushed and inclined to pant, and the beads of sweat
stood upon his forehead notwithstanding the briskness of the
morning air.

Then Tom began to understand where Lord Claud's advantage lay. If
he could tire out his adversary by keeping on the defensive, then
at the last he might get his chance, and lunge at him when he would
scarce be able to parry the thrust.

It was easy to see that his weak point was slowness of recovery.
His thrusts were quick and well planted, he had an excellent guard
and mastery of the weapon; but he was slow in recovering after
making a lunge, and the longer the fight continued the more evident
did this defect become. And it was plain that he was aware of it,
for though he pressed upon his antagonist with great determination
and with much dexterity of sword play, he was afraid to take
advantage of his longer reach and lunge at him boldly; for he knew
that if Lord Claud avoided the thrust, he would almost certainly
have at him with a counter lunge before he had time to parry.

And, in fact, that was what did at the last happen, after the fight
had lasted so long that Tom thought half an hour must surely have
gone by. Both antagonists showed signs of weariness. It had even
been suggested that enough had been done to satisfy the claims of
honour; but to that suggestion neither principal would listen.

Sir James was much distressed. Sweat poured from his brow, his
breath came in deep gasps, his face was growing purple. Lord Claud
looked white, but otherwise had not changed in aspect, and the
deadly battle light in his eyes was growing brighter and keener.

His heavy antagonist now saw that nothing could serve his purpose
but an exercise of sheer weight and brute force, and he pressed on
and on with such fury that Tom almost cried aloud in his fear. But
Lord Claud was wary and watchful; he gave way for a while, only
parrying the thrusts, and that with not so much force as before;
then suddenly Sir James made a furious lunge, and calling out in a
strangled voice, "Have at you now!" he all but buried his rapier in
his adversary's body.

All but--yet not quite; for just at the moment when it seemed
impossible to parry the furious stroke, Lord Claud made a curious
upward twist of the wrist, caught his adversary's blade and turned
it so that it glanced aside and passed him, whilst he sprang
towards him at the same instant, and saying quite coolly, "Sir,
methinks your physician would recommend blood letting in your
heated condition," he thrust straight and true at his burly
adversary, running the shining blade into his shoulder in such a
fashion that the tip of the rapier reappeared red with blood behind
him, and he fell forwards with a smothered bellow like that of a
bull who is ringed, so that Lord Claud had need of all his
quickness to withdraw his rapier in time.

Second and surgeon sprang to the side of the wounded man; but Lord
Claud said quite quietly:

"'Tis no mortal wound. He has not got his deserts this time. Are
you satisfied, gentlemen, or do you want more with us?"

The second looked up at Tom's stalwart figure, hesitated a moment,
and then professed that he desired to carry matters no further.

Lord Claud handed the rapiers to Tom, coolly resumed his discarded
garments, took off his hat with a courtly bow, and walked off with
his customary air of easy grace.

"Come, Tom," he said, "we have managed that well. The brute will
not die, but will only keep his bed a while, and doubtless rise to
trouble us again in days to come. They say he has never felt a
wound before, and boasts himself invulnerable. He will little
relish the lesson he has had today. But he will never forget or
forgive; so have a caution when he is your neighbour in any
company. He will rail at his second for not pinking you; but 'twas
his own words that daunted the man. He thought he saw in you a
veritable son of the forest, terrible in wrath, invincible in
skill--" and Lord Claud suddenly threw back his head and began to
laugh unrestrainedly.

"I did not understand him," quoth Tom.

"Marry, no--and no need you should! You had better not understand
too much of the things you see and hear in the world, honest Tom.
And now let us to a more hearty breakfast, and back again to town.
I must show myself today with a lordly grace, and prove to all the
world that I need shrink from no man's gaze. As for yon black bull,
be sure he will breathe no word of this thing. It would ill mate
with his pride for the world to know that he had been spitted like
a capon by one whom he has dared to gibe at as the white hind of
the forest!"

Lord Claud's mood had completely changed. He was gay and merry, and
eager after pleasure. He took Tom hither and thither to half a
dozen fine houses, where the ladies gazed with a certain awestruck
admiration at this "untamed son of the woods," as it pleased Lord
Claud to call him, whilst they loaded with favours the brilliant
young spark, who seemed, when in the mood, to have power to win all
hearts.

He was a "dear tormenting devil," or a "mad fellow, but withal a
true Prince Charming;" and just as he talked sound sense and
politics with the poet yesterday, so now he beat even the finest of
the ladies and their beaux at high-flown nonsense about goddesses
and heroes, and the Arcadian bowers where they made a pretence of
living and moving.

At the play, to which they went later, he moved from box to box,
from tier to tier, taking snuff with the men, saying charming
nothings to the ladies; the centre always of a laughing throng,
whose proximity must surely have been distressful to any persons so
unfashionable as to desire to listen to what the actors were
saying. He even went behind and upon the stage, as spectators were
still permitted to do, although there was less of this confusion
than a few years before; and he was eagerly welcomed wherever he
appeared.

From the play they repaired to more gay houses, where Tom speedily
lost his ten guineas at basset, but was too excited to care, and
paid over his stakes with a lordly indifference that did credit to
his powers of observation and imitation.

It was long past midnight ere they bent their steps homewards, and
then, as it was far too late to seek the shelter of Master Cale's
abode, Tom betook himself once more to Lord Claud's lodgings, and
was speedily sound asleep in the most soft and sumptuous bed it had
ever been his lot to lie upon.



CHAPTER VII. MASTER GALE'S DAUGHTER.


It was Sunday morning, and Tom was making his way, towards the hour
of noon, to the house of the perruquier, which he had quitted some
four days past, with no intention of so long an absence.

The streets were unwontedly quiet, and the cries of the apprentices
at the doors of the shops were pleasantly missed. The shops were
most of them shuttered up, and the apprentices, clad in their best,
were all away to some sport of their own selection in byways and
alleys, or lingering about the parks with a knot of footmen and
lackeys, watching the fine folk walk in and out. For the common
sort were not admitted as yet within the precincts of the parks,
and even the gentlefolks had to leave their servants behind; so
that it may well be guessed there was plenty of gossiping and
hustling to be had at the gates, if any had a taste for it.

Tom was a far finer figure coming home than he had been in going
out. He wore a coat of azure velvet, and his vest was a perfect
cataract of fine point de Venise. His shoes were of white leather
with red heels, and his stockings of the finest white silk. He had
felt ashamed of his plain claret cloth, which had seemed so fine at
first, when taken to the houses of the fine hooped and powdered
ladies; and Lord Claud had had him fitted with this suit at his own
costumiers, bidding Tom regard it as a small token of friendship
and gratitude.

Tom had delighted in his fine appearance as he was taken the round
of the fashionable houses; but now, as he neared his former
lodgings, he found himself wishing he had put on the more sober
suit. He felt that Master Cale's eyes would rest upon him with a
grave disapproval, and he had not yet grown indifferent to the
opinion of the man who had so befriended him.

The perruquier's shop was close shut up, the sign swinging idly
overhead. But the door in the rear stood ajar, and Tom softly
pushed it open and entered.

He paused on the threshold, surprised by an unfamiliar sound--the
sound of a fresh young voice singing a gay little snatch of song in
some upper chamber. He mounted the stairs softly, the sound of the
voice growing clearer, and at last he knew that the singer must be
in the upper parlour, where, when the day's work was all finished,
the perruquier and any lodger he might chance to have spent the
evening hours if they did not go abroad.

This parlour was free to Tom, who, however, had not so far troubled
it much with his presence; but now he pushed open the door with
pardonable curiosity, and beheld at once the singer of the quaint
little refrain.

A slim young maiden was standing at the window, looking down into
the street below. She wore the simple dress of the citizen class, a
rather full skirt of cloth--of a finer texture perhaps than some,
and of a dark crimson colour which well became her--and the laced
bodice and full sleeves of the day. Round her throat she had a fine
white muslin kerchief edged with lace, and her apron was of the
same. She had plainly been wearing a hood of cloth like her dress,
but this was now lying on the table; and her pretty dark brown
hair, rather ruffled, was bound by nothing save a snood of crimson
riband. Her profile was turned to Tom, and he saw a sweet, little,
merry face, with a nose a trifle tip-tilted, and a cheek the colour
of a damask rose.

It seemed as though the opening of the door had been heard, for the
maid exclaimed in a merry voice:

"O father dear, I do love your picture of Absalom and David! I
think the king's great periwig is most beautifully depicted. But I
would like a companion picture on the other side--the mule running
away with Absalom, and the periwig left hanging on the tree!"

Then turning full round a laughing rosy face and a pair of roguish
hazel eyes, the maid suddenly found herself face to face with this
very fine young gentleman, and in a moment the smile died away,
although there was no displeasure in the glance of curiosity and
admiration which she bestowed upon him.

Tom made his best bow, and the maiden dropped him a pretty
courtesy, saying with frank fearlessness:

"You are surely my father's lodger, of whom he spoke to me. I crave
your pardon for not sooner seeing you. But I knew not that you were
in the house, and thought it must needs be my father at the door."

Tom advanced and stood beside her in the window. The pair regarded
each other with a frank and friendly curiosity.

"Are you Master Cale's daughter, pretty maiden?" asked Tom.

She nodded her head archly, whilst Tom hastened to ask:

"But how comes it then that I have never seen you before? I thought
he lived alone, with only his housekeeper, shopman, and apprentice
in the house."

"And so he does," answered the maid. "He will not have me to dwell
here. As soon as my mother died, when I was but eight years old, he
sent me away to my aunt in Highgate, with whom I have remained ever
since. Fain would I come back and keep house for him, but he will
none of it. He says that his house is no place for me, and he will
never let me visit him even of a week day. But upon most Sundays he
either comes forth to fetch me, or my aunt brings me hither to him.
Last Sunday the rain poured down so lustily that we were e'en
forced to bide at home; but whenever it is possible we spend the
day together, and I love to come into the town and walk abroad with
him there, and see such sights as may be seen upon the Sabbath
day."

"And is your aunt with you today?" asked Tom.

"She brought me hither after we had attended service at St. Paul's,
which I love to do. But now she has gone to visit some gossip of
her own. Father and I will have the afternoon together and alone,
and this we love best of all. He always gives holiday to apprentice
and shopman, so that we can have the house to ourselves, and enjoy
ourselves after our own fashion."

"I trust I shall not mar your happiness if I ask to share your
noontide meal," said Tom humbly.

"Oh no, sir, we shall be proud of your company," answered the girl;
"if you are not too fine a gentleman to sit at board with humble
citizens.

"Ah, there is my father's step! Doubtless he comes to say that
dinner is ready. He will not let me soil my fingers with cooking
when I come; but I can cook right well for all that--" and there
she stopped short, for Cale was already entering, and he gave quite
a start as his glance fell upon the resplendent figure standing
beside his daughter, though his face cleared and put on a slightly
quizzical look as he recognized who the young spark was.

"Ho! ho! my young friend, so I see you back at last! It is plain
that you have been with mighty fine company since you left my
humble roof. I almost marvel that Curley Cale's lodging is
accounted fine enough to hold your worshipful self longer!"

Tom suddenly felt a qualm of shame and disgust at his finery. It
was all very well for men like Lord Claud, but he felt that it made
him ridiculous to be tricked out like a peacock, in lieu of wearing
the more sober and becoming raiment chosen for him with such care
by Master Cale himself. His cheek glowed as he made reply:

"It is but a suit that was given me to appear at the house of some
fine lady last evening. I would gladly be rid of it now, and, with
your leave, will don more sober raiment. I love not to be pranked
out like this; but what would you, when all the world does the
like?"

Cale smiled his shrewd little smile, the maiden's eyes expressed
open admiration for the costly frippery, but Tom hastened away and
chose for himself one of the seemly but well-cut and fashionable
suits that had been left for him since he quitted the house a few
days before; and when he descended to join the party of two at the
board, as he had been invited, he felt much more like himself, and
looked much more suited to his surroundings, than he had done when
he first appeared there.

Father and daughter received him kindly, and Rosamund's eyes were
full of eagerness as she turned them upon him. He had learned by
this time that her name was Rosamund, though her father generally
called her Rosy.

"I pray you, fair sir," she said, with a pretty imperiousness of
manner, "tell us some of the things that you have seen and heard
these last days. My father says you have been keeping fine company,
and I would learn what that is like; for I am but a humble
citizen's daughter, and I live my life away in the country, so all
I know of the gay doings in the town I must needs hear from my
father, who tells me as little as ever he can!"

And she looked towards him with a charming pout upon her lips,
though her eyes were full of love beneath their merry sparkle.

"I am but a country-bred youth myself, Mistress Rosamund," answered
Tom, who had laid aside all his fine gentleman airs, and felt a
deal more comfortable in consequence, "and this town and its gay
doings are as strange to me as they can be to you. I am all agape
at what I see and hear; but a man must needs keep his astonishment
to himself, else he becomes the butt and the gibe of all the
company."

And forthwith, by no means reluctantly, Master Tom began to give
account of his doings of the past days, only keeping quite silent
on the subject of the duel, for he had learned that that was a
matter which Lord Claud wished to remain secret.

Rosamund listened as Desdemona might have done to Othello, and Cale
himself was considerably interested, though he shook his head when
he heard that already Tom had lost all the money he had about him,
and was even in debt to Lord Claud for losses he had been unable to
meet at the moment, and which his patron had settled for him.

"Keep away from the gaming tables, Tom; keep away from the gaming
tables," he said. "Did I not warn you that you would be fleeced and
rooked if you tried that sort of thing on?"

Tom laughed a little, and said he knew beforehand he should lose,
as though that were an excuse. But Cale only shook his head; and
Rosamund asked eagerly:

"But who is this great Lord Claud, fair sir? He seems a wonderful
person, and fain would I see him with mine own eyes. He seems a
kind and generous man, and wondrous clever and beautiful. Pray tell
me who he is?"

Tom looked across at Cale, and made answer:

"I' sooth, Mistress Rosamund, I know not. Perchance your father may
be better instructed."

Cale shook his head. His face was very grave.

"That is a question which I doubt if any man in London town can
answer. Every man knows Lord Claud by name and fame, but none can
tell who he is, nor whence come his wealth and power. Mark me, Tom,
it behoves you to have a care how you fall beneath the spell of his
beauty and his kindliness. He has made friends before this of
handsome, powerful lads, not long from the country, and amongst
these many have disappeared and never been heard of more, whilst
others have fallen into crime, and have languished in Newgate, or
paid the forfeit of their lives upon the gallows."

Rosamund shrank and grew pale; whilst Tom looked the perruquier
full in the face, and said:

"Truly I can believe that many men who plunge into dissipation and
vice may come in time to a bad end. But why charge that upon Lord
Claud? He can only be held responsible for his own life, and he
lives and thrives in favour with all."

"Like a green bay tree," answered the perruquier thoughtfully. "I
have often seen the wicked in great prosperity; but their downfall
comes at last."

"Do you call Lord Claud wicked?" asked Tom rather hotly.

"No," was the quiet reply; "I judge no man; but I do say that
worldly prosperity is no test of true merit. The wicked may be fat
and flourishing for long; but the Lord will avenge at the last."

"But, father," cried pretty Rosamund eagerly, "for what crimes were
the poor young men hanged of whom you spoke just now?"

"Most of them suffered for the crime of robbery on the king's
highway."

Tom again flushed rather deeply. He had heard hints and innuendoes
before this, and his wits were beginning now to piece things
together. He was angry, yet he scarce knew why.

"Do you mean to say, Master Cale," he asked, "that men accuse Lord
Claud of being the accomplice of highwaymen and footpads?"

And then he himself remembered the words of the message with which
Captain Jack had entrusted him, and a strange thrill seemed to run
down his spine.

"Men say nought of him openly," answered Cale, "but they whisper
among themselves. For my part, I know nothing of Lord Claud and his
doings. But I know that there have been marvellous clever and
daring deeds done upon the road; that the king's money chests have
been rifled again and again of gold, transmitted by the Treasury
for the pay of the soldiers in foreign lands, and that none of the
gold has ever been recovered. Now and again an obscure person has
been captured, and has suffered death for complicity in such a
crime; and it has been told me that several of such have been
stalwart and stanch youths, who had at one time been seen
frequenting Lord Claud's lodgings, much noticed and petted by him.
What truth there be in such talk I know not. Nor have I any desire
to know. A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing; and the voice
of rumour is but little to be trusted."

"Very little, I should think," answered Tom quickly; for he had
already conceived a great attachment towards Lord Claud, and it
irked him to think that men should speak of him as one who was a
false friend, and the accomplice in crimes for which others
suffered whilst he reaped the spoil.

A man, especially in his hot-headed youth, seldom believes what he
has no mind to; and Tom certainly had no disposition to believe any
harm of Lord Claud.

So the talk drifted to other channels, and when presently Rosamund
declared with pretty insistence that she must not be cheated of her
walk abroad in the streets. Tom asked if he might make one of the
party without intruding; and the bright eyes of the girl gave
eloquent answer.

So they sallied forth together, and Master Cale played cicerone,
and showed Tom many strange and wonderful things, telling him
absorbing stories the while. He showed him the limits of the
ravages of the Great Fire, which he could remember well, as he was
ten years old at the time. He took them into many of the churches
afterwards built by Wren, and Tom stood lost in amaze at the
magnificent proportions of the great St. Paul's, the inside of
which he had not seen till today. He was shown also the site of one
of the Great Plague pits; and Rosamund clung trembling, yet
fascinated, to her father's arm whilst he spoke of the things that
had happened in those gruesome days.

He himself had been sent away into the country during the terrible
visitation; but his father had remained and had survived, and from
him he had learned all manner of strange tales, which Rosamund
loved to hear him tell, though they always blanched her cheek, and
brought a look of terror into her pretty eyes.

Tom thought this was a pleasanter way of spending the afternoon
than listening to the braggings of the coffee house bullies, or
watching the mummery of the play, when scarce a word could be heard
from the actors, owing to the laughter and talk that buzzed all
round the house. The clamour from the footmen's gallery alone
almost sufficed to drown the sound from the stage; and, indeed, a
short time later on, the disgraceful behaviour of the servants who
attended their masters and mistresses to the play became so
intolerable that the free gallery was closed to them, causing
regular riots every night, till military aid had to be summoned.

But Rosamund thought it must be delightful to see a play, and
wanted to hear all he could tell her about it; and so well pleased
were the pair with their conversation, that Master Cale, bethinking
him of an old friend hard by, with whom he liked to exchange a
friendly word from time to time, bid them walk up and down the
street together for a brief time, until he should pay his visit and
join them again.

This suited the young people very well, and they exchanged a good
many confidences together. Tom told her of his home at Gablehurst,
and of his mother and sister, and the father who was gone; and she
told him of her quiet life in her aunt's house, and how she would
so greatly like to remain always with her father, and watch the
life of this wonderful city.

But Tom could well understand how the perruquier would shrink from
permitting his innocent and pretty daughter to dwell beneath his
roof. His trade brought thither all manner of fine dandies and
young bloods, and if it were known that there was a pretty maiden
within doors, there would be no end to their attempts to get sight
of or speech with her; and any girl's head might be turned by the
flowery nonsense that would be spoken and written to her.

"Believe me, you are better where you are, Mistress Rosy," answered
Tom. "I would not have my sister Rachel here, now that I have seen
what London is like. It is a place for men to see at least once in
their lives; but women are better away from it. I looked about at
the painted faces, the towering heads, and the huge hoops the other
night, and I said to myself, that if my mother or sister were to
make of themselves such objects as that, I should be ready to sink
into the ground for shame--to say nothing of the ogling, and fan
tapping, and silly jargon of talk which would put a chattering
monkey to shame!"

If Tom was quoting Lord Claud's moralizings, he quoted them in all
good faith; for he had been honestly disgusted by the glimpses he
had had of the goings on of fine ladies in their houses, and could
better appreciate the simplicity and true affection of his own
womankind than he had ever done before.

At this moment there smote upon his ears the unwelcome sound of
mocking laughter that seemed familiar to him.

"Ho, ho, ho! So the country bumpkin has found a mistress already!
So he has had to leave the fine ladies, and mate with one of his
own sort after all! Ho, ho, ho! She has a neat foot and ankle, at
any rate! Let us see what sort of a face there is under the crimson
hood!"

Tom felt the girl's hand clutch fast hold of his arm, and his blood
began to tingle in his veins. He was mightily glad that he had
buckled on his sword before coming out; although, as he had put on
a heavy cloak, it was possible the bullies were not aware of that.

"Which house did your father enter, Mistress Rosamund?" he asked
quickly.

"I did not note," she answered, looking round with frightened eyes;
"but methinks it was the one with the steps and the little recess."

Tom, making a few rapid strides, whisked her quickly within the
shelter of the doorway, saying, as coolly as might be:

"Knock, and ask to join your father, if he be within. I will soon
settle these impudent fellows behind."

Then he faced about quickly, just as the four bullies he had met
before came swaggering up, ready for any mischief and fighting that
might be afoot.

"Come, Master Greengoose, let's see what sort of taste you have in
faces! You are a fine hand at making friends! Let's see how you
fare with the ladies!

"Nay, mistress, do not turn so coyly away and draw your hood over
those bright eyes--"

But the speaker got no further, for Tom's sword bad come flashing
from its sheath, and with a quick turn of the wrist he hit the
fellow full on the mouth with the hilt, so that he fell back
spluttering and swearing, the blood starting from his lips.

"Is that enough," said Tom sternly, "or will you have more?"

It was Thirsty Thring who had received the buffet, and he was the
least disposed of all that worthy quartette to show fight to a
resolute adversary; but Bully Bullen came swaggering up, drawing
his sword with a great air of assurance. He had been the hero of
many a tavern brawl before, and reckoned his skill as something to
be feared.

"So, young rooster! Wouldst crow so lustily on your dung heap? D'ye
think you're to be cock o' the walk in all London town? Are honest
citizens to be set upon, and their teeth knocked out, to please
your lusty humours? Take that, you young cub, and learn manners to
your betters!"

He made a fierce and sudden lunge at Tom as he spoke, expecting
that he had an untrained and inexperienced adversary to deal with.
But Tom had had three lessons already from Captain Raikes, as well
as bouts with Lord Claud by way of amusement; and with hardly a
perceptible effort he parried the thrust, and making his keen blade
twine round the clumsier one of his opponent, he jerked the weapon
clean out of his hand, and sent it flying half across the road.

"A fig for your boasting!" he cried contemptuously. "You had best
get out of my sight, lest I run you through for your impudence!"

Slippery Seal, seeing how matters were going, now raised a cry for
help.

"Help! help! Watchmen, to the rescue! Here is a desperate young
ruffian seeking to murder the Queen's subjects in broad daylight!
Help, I say, and take the young braggart before the magistrates!
Cannot peaceable citizens walk the streets without being set upon
by such bullies as that yonder?"

Two watchmen at that moment came hastening up, and looked at the
combatants with questioning eyes. Tom was flushed, and his sword
was still in his hand; but Rosamund had been admitted to the house,
and was going hot-foot in search of her father, to come and put a
stop to the fight; for she bad perfect faith in his power to do
anything he had a mind to.

"We four can testify," said Slippery Seal, with a voice of great
unction, "that as we were peaceably passing down the street, this
young fellow, of whom we know no good, made a sudden and unprovoked
attack upon honest Master Thring there, whose mouth is still
bleeding from the blow. Thereupon Master Bullen drew his sword to
protect him; but he was set upon so furiously, that had he not been
a notable swordsman he must needs have been killed. As it was, his
sword was dashed from his band, and there it lies in the roadway
before your eyes. I say, how long are pious and peaceable citizens
to be treated thus? Do your duty, my good fellows, and take this
young man into custody. A taste of the stocks will do him a vast
deal of good, and we will bear testimony against him with right
good will. 'In the mouth of two or three witnesses--' you know what
says the Scripture."

"Ay, you blasphemer and liar, we know well what says the Scripture:
'Thou shalt not bear false witness;' and again, 'The mouth that
speaketh lies shall be stopped.'"

Looking round quickly, Tom saw Master Cale, with his daughter
clinging to his arm, standing in the doorway of the house, and
sternly regarding the scene.

"Watchmen," he said, "if you make any prisoners today, take you
those four bullies, who are but too well known in these streets
already. It is they who delight to set upon strangers, and insult
and frighten innocent maidens. Take you them, and I will bear
witness against them; for I saw the scene with my own eyes. Would
to heaven that honest citizens could rid their streets of such
spawn!

"But I tell you, you mischievous scum, the day will come when we
will no longer stand this swaggering and bullying. We are a patient
people; but you can provoke us too far. I know you four right well.
I would sit you in the stocks in a row, or have you whipped at the
cart's tail from Newgate to Tyburn; and perchance the day may come
when--"

But the miscreants did not wait to hear the end of this harangue.
They well knew that no tale of theirs could stand for a moment
before the witness of a man respected as Master Cale the
perruquier. Fearful lest the watch, who had let go their hold of
Tom, should in turn lay hands on them, they fled helter-skelter,
but as they went they breathed out threats of being even with Tom
another time, and he knew well that this encounter had changed them
from the merely jeering enemies they had shown themselves at first
into real antagonists full of bitter animosity and hatred.

The watch were never too eager to take up evildoers who were
possessed of swords and were strong of body. They were glad enough
that Master Cale had vouched for Tom's honesty, and that the other
four had betaken themselves away. Hard knocks and sometimes fatal
injury were often the portion of these old men, so incapable of
keeping order in the streets; and thankful were they when any fray
ended in the manner of this one.

But Cale's face was rather grave as he turned homewards, his
daughter clinging to his arm, and Tom marching upon her other side
with his head high in the air.

"I thank you, my good lad, for being so stout a champion to my
little girl," he said; "and yet I would it had not happened; for it
is ill work making enemies in these days of lawlessness and
duelling."

But Tom gave a little laugh. He had no desire to make boast of his
prowess; yet he felt that he could settle a score of quarrels with
such besotted creatures as the four he had put to rout so lately,
and be no manner the worse for it himself. He was not at all sorry
for the adventure. He felt a flutter of pride and pleasure in the
shy glances shot at him from the dark eyes beneath the crimson
hood. He had made of himself a hero in the eyes of pretty Rosamund,
and he liked that experience well enough.

"Fear not for me, my good friend," he answered, in a tone that had
caught a little of the lofty ring of Lord Claud's.

"A man cannot go through life without making enemies as well as
friends. But as for such creatures as we have just quitted, why,
they are not worth a thought! I heed them no more than the wasp
that buzzes round my head. They are the scum and off scouring of
the earth--all brag and boast, but ready to run at the first hint
of danger!"

Rosamund's eyes shot forth another look of admiration; but Cale
said quietly:

"Yet it is this very scum and off scouring of the earth who have
before now kidnapped and shipped off to the plantations of Virginia
honest men of stout heart and stalwart frame; for there is great
demand for able-bodied men there, and good prices are paid for bone
and muscle. So again I say, have a care, Tom, have a care. I would
not have you entertain one coward fear, yet I would have you
careful not to provoke needless animosity; for we live in perilous
and evil days."

The colour had faded from Rosamund's cheeks at these words, and she
timidly laid a hand upon Tom's arm as he marched beside her.

"Fair sir, you will be careful," she said, in a soft and pleading
voice. "If hurt were to come to you for having so gallantly
befriended me, I should know no peace or happiness again!"

Tom looked with a smile into the face of the speaker; and Cale
heard the words, and saw the look. He gave a little sigh, and
walked on in deep thought.

It was Tom and Rosamund who did the greater part of the talking,
even after they got home and partook of the dish of tea. This then
costly beverage was reckoned by Rosamund as a Sunday treat, and
sipped with great relish; and Tom took it for the first time,
saying he would e'en make shift to like it, since Mistress Rose
vouched that it was good, although he had hitherto refused it when
offered at the houses of the fine folks he had visited.

So in talk and tea drinking an hour slipped away; and then the
perruquier rose and bid Rosamund get her hood and come; for it was
high time to fetch her aunt, and go back to Highgate.

Tom would have liked to accompany them once more, but some instinct
restrained him from making the offer. He bade adieu to Rosamund at
her own door, and went back to sit by the fire and muse of all the
things that had happened to him during this momentous week.



CHAPTER VIII. THE GREAT DUKE.


"Now, Tom, keep your eyes well open. He is about to appear!"

Tom was standing, tall and silent, feeling singularly out of place
in that gorgeous company, in a magnificent reception room,
brilliantly lighted, and crowded from one end to the other with a
throng of highly-born and fashionable persons.

He had been introduced by Lord Claud into this gay assembly, and
was already half disposed to wish himself away.

Tom had been several weeks in town now; and after his first
encounter with Lord Claud, which had led to such close intimacy for
a few days, he had seen nothing of that remarkable personage for
the space of two or three weeks.

Although perhaps a little piqued that his patron had not sent him
so much as a line of invitation, or seemed to remember his
existence, Tom was not sure that he regretted his lack of memory.
Lord Claud had certainly fascinated his imagination, and won his
affections; but he seemed to be a mysterious character, whose
friendship might not prove too desirable a possession. It was not
his place, he thought, with the simple pride of the countryman, to
seek to thrust himself upon a man so much greater than himself. So
he had gone about seeing the sights of the town with Harry Gay,
spending his money with some freedom, and indulging in a little
play and dicing at various houses of entertainment. But he kept
within moderate bounds in his pleasures, both because he desired to
eke out his funds as far as possible, and because he did not wish
to fall under the displeasure of his kind host, Master Cale, the
father of pretty Rosamund.

Tom thought a good deal about Rosamund during the week, and
regarded Sunday as the red-letter day of his calendar. Master Cale
did not forbid him to be of their company upon the afternoons when
they walked abroad, and he and the maid were excellent friends by
this time, and exchanged many gay quips and sallies together.
Rosamund always made him tell the story of his past week in some
detail; and Tom had therefore another motive for keeping free from
scenes and company which would have made his story unfit hearing
for her pretty ears.

Already he had begun to think that when he had travelled and seen
the world, and was ready to go home and take up the duties which at
five and twenty would devolve upon him, he would return with far
greater contentment and pleasure if he could take back Rosamund as
his wife. He could not fancy that any life would be dull and
monotonous shared with her, nor any home dreary that was lightened
by the sunshine of her presence.

The image of Rosamund had begun almost to obliterate that of Lord
Claud in his imagination, when suddenly one day he found himself
again in company of that gentleman at the coffee house he generally
frequented.

Lord Claud laid a friendly hand upon his shoulder, saying, with a
light laugh:

"O Tom, Tom, whom I called so trusty, I fear me you are as fickle
as any maid! But what does the prophet when the mountain will not
come to him? He even puts his pride in his pocket and goes to the
mountain. You are a solid mountain in your way, good Tom; and here
is the prophet come after you!"

Tom looked up, half ashamed, half flattered, the charm of Lord
Claud's presence beginning at once to make itself felt.

"My lord, I could not think you wanted such a humble person as
myself! And you had but to send me a line to Master Cale's if you
did," he stammered.

Lord Claud dropped into the seat next him, laughing a light,
low-toned laugh.

"I like your simplicity, my honest Tom. Keep it as long as you can;
for it is a quality rarely met with in these days, and smells as
sweet as lavender in country gardens. I have not been wont to need
to ask my friends to visit me. They swarm about my rooms like bees
round honey, so long as there be honey to gather from my hive. How
do you think you are going to live, my young friend, when your
store of guineas is melted, if you have not learned that noble art
of picking and stealing, which our young blades of fashion practise
with such success and grace?"

So the acquaintance was renewed, Tom quickly falling again beneath
the spell of the strong personality of Lord Claud. He had not
entirely ceased his sword practice with Captain Raikes during the
past weeks, and now was to be found at his hall almost every day.
Lord Claud himself would sometimes come and watch and applaud; and
more than once, as the two had walked away together, linked arm in
arm, his patron had said:

"Good swordsmanship is an art to be greatly prized. It makes a man
respected and feared. It gives him distinction with his fellows.
Besides, one never knows when it may be useful for the saving of
one's skin. A man who can wield the rapier with skill, master his
horse as you can, honest Tom, and shoot fair and true with pistol
and musket, may go through life to a merry tune, and even die at
last in his bed, if he has a mind for so respectable an end!"

The days were shortening to their darkest by now. Snow fell in the
streets, and made walking disagreeable. Tom found it pleasant to
ride along beside Lord Claud, mounted upon the mettlesome mare,
Nell Gwynne, who appeared kept just now for his especial use and
behoof. He still spent his Sundays at his lodgings; but pretty
Rosamund was not always able to come across when the snow lay deep
along the country roads. Tom began to think less of her again, and
more of his patron and friend; being, as may have already been
gleaned, a youth of impressionable nature, easily moulded by the
character of his associates, although not without a latent firmness
of will which might develop into sterling metal in time, though,
perhaps, not until the admixture of dross had been purged away by
the action of the furnace of trial.

All London was now agog over the return of the victor of Blenheim.
The great Duke of Marlborough had been upon his way home for some
time. In the middle of December he reached London, and took his
seat in the House of Lords; and it was said that early in the next
year there would be a monstrous fine procession from the Tower to
Westminster, in which all the trophies of war would be solemnly
paraded.

Tom was as excited as anybody over all this, and as eager to obtain
sight of the great Duke. Lord Claud had promised that he should not
only see him, but be one of the same company at some fine house
where he would show himself. Tom had often been to grand enough
houses already with his friend; but it seemed to him overmuch to
suppose that he could be introduced into any company of which the
Duke of Marlborough was to be a member.

Lord Claud, however, was not given to vain boasting. The open-house
festivities of Christmas were approaching. He himself had won the
entree to an extraordinary number of fashionable houses; and this
evening here was Tom, come with his patron to a nobleman's
dwelling, standing in the crowd of fashionable grandees, all in a
flutter of excitement to see the hero of the hour at close
quarters.

"Keep your eyes open, Tom; you cannot fail to see him as he passes
through the room. You are lucky in being able to look over the
heads of all the crowd. No tiptoeing lady can intercept your view
even with her towering headdress!"

This was hardly true; for there were ladies whose headdresses were
of such monstrous proportions that the dame of five feet stood
seven feet high, taking the heels of her shoes and the tower on her
head into consideration! But luckily these extravagant follies were
confined only to the few, the majority of the ladies being content
with a headdress of more moderate dimensions.

There was a great buzz of talk going on as it became known that the
Duke was approaching--some eager to know if the Duchess would be
with him; others laughing at the name, and vowing that Mrs. Morley
could never bear to part with her dear Mrs. Freeman even for an
hour!

The doors at the end of the room were thrown suddenly open. The
master of the house appeared, leading with great distinction of
manner a little knot of guests, who passed through the crowded
outer reception room at a slow pace, returning the many salutations
of the company with great show of goodwill, disappearing presently
behind the curtains which shut off the innermost room where the
lady of the house was awaiting them, with some of the more select
and high-born guests.

"That is the Duke," said Lord Claud to Tom, indicating a tall and
elegant man, who looked to him hardly old enough for the general of
so many victorious battles. He was singularly handsome, with a
languid grace of bearing that seemed strange in a soldier. He spoke
in a peculiarly modulated and refined voice, and plainly possessed
the art of saying the right thing to the right person, and that at
the right moment. His silver tongue had done as much good service
in keeping the Allies in harmony, as his military genius in forming
combinations and defeating the ends of the enemy.

At his side was the Duchess, a fine-looking woman of commanding
presence, not beautiful, but with a very elegant figure and
remarkably abundant hair, which she wore in a more tasteful way
than most of the company. A few paces behind came another notable
figure, that of Marshal Tallard, the French general whom
Marlborough had taken prisoner at Blenheim, and whom he had brought
with him to England; but whom he treated with every courtesy, and
with whom he bad formed something very like a real friendship.

Lord Claud whispered to Tom that Marshal Tallard had been the one
French general whose genius was in the least able to cope with that
of Marlborough; and to have him in safe keeping in this country was
a most excellent thing for the Grand Alliance.

As soon as the distinguished guests had disappeared, the buzz of
talk rose louder than before. Tom asked, in puzzled tones, what all
this chatter about Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman meant; and Lord
Claud laughed, as he replied:

"Have you never heard of the whim of the Queen to call herself Mrs.
Morley in her letters to the Duchess, who in her turn is Mrs.
Freeman? And very well is she so named, for never was subject more
free with sovereign than is Duchess Sarah with good Queen Anne.
Indeed, there be not those lacking who say that such freedom cannot
go on for ever. However fondly the Queen may love the Duchess now,
she cannot for ever submit to be the subject of her subject. Some
day there will be a storm, and then it will behove Mrs. Freeman to
sing to a different tune! For the Queen has a will of her own when
once it is roused, and can show a stubborn front when she
chooses--as some of her ministers have already found to their
discomfiture!"

Lord Claud strolled away presently, leaving Tom to look about him
and listen to the idle chatter of the shifting throng. He made out
that though the Duke of Marlborough was in great popular esteem,
his Duchess was little liked; and spiteful things were circulated
to her disfavour all round the room. It was plain that she had a
very overbearing temper, and made many enemies; but her affection
for her husband and children was never disputed, nor his for her,
though there were many who marvelled what a man of his parts could
see in such a shrew to be so devoted to her as had always been the
case.

"For she belabours him sorely with her tongue times and again, and
ofttimes writes 

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